Remembrance
by karisma1again
Summary: When tragedy befalls them, Mark and Lexie must analyze a past best forgotten if they have any chance at a future together. Set somewhere in the future.
1. Prologue: Humanity

_**AN: I know, I have no business starting something new, but I couldn't help myself. I hope you like it, in all its brevity. I'm already halfway through Chapter 1 so that will be up sometime soon. **_

_**This story will jump around in time, but for now it's set somewhere in the indefinite future. **_

Remembrance

Prologue: Humanity

One should not have to brave the rain at 1 AM for an ice cream run just because one lost a bet that was rigged from the get-go. If Mark had been any kind of gentleman he would have run the errand himself.

"Not it," he had said instead, tapping his index finger to his nose as soon as she had come back to bed and informed him they were out of mint chocolate chip.

First she wasted five minutes bargaining: "I'll take out the trash for a week if you go."

He had kissed her nose and patted her butt out of bed. "I don't believe you. Plus I went last time."

She grumbled the entire time it took her to dress, declaring he'd never see her naked again. It was an empty threat and he took it as such, returning to his book before looking at her again.

"I'll make you a deal: Name the six common causes of post-op fever and I'll go."

"Wind, water, wound, walking, wonder drugs…" she faltered and squinted at him. He shut his book and watched with patience. "Damn." She sighed. "What's the sixth?"

He grinned. "First admit defeat."

She rolled her eyes and heading toward the door. "I'm going, I'm going."

"Trick question. There're only five Ws; you got 'em all." He resumed reading . "You should really trust your instincts, Grey."

She stared at him from the doorway. Shirtless and propped up against down pillows, he wasn't reading a word. He was too busy smiling at his own cleverness.

"Hateful man," she muttered, turning away from the bedroom.

"Off you go."

So now, as she exited the convenience store, she made a solemn vow that he'd never get a bite of the ice cream. Lexie pulled the hood of her jacket over her already damp hair. Gripping the brown paper bag, she dashed to her car. On the way, she slid on a slick patch and wavered for a moment, arms extended to help her catch her balance. She let out a short breath of relief; no need to have her gray matter decorate the parking lot. She walked the rest of the way.

Cold, her fingers dropped the keys onto the wet gravel.

"Damn," she said, dropping on her haunches to pick them up. When she stood, her breath caught at the figure in front of her.

"Got any change?" The man wore gloves with the fingertips ripped off. A baseball cap under a worn jacket did little to protect his face from the pelting rain.

Still breathless from surprise, she swallowed and said, "I could buy you something to eat instead?" Her head nodded in the direction of the store behind them. The rain soaked the brown bag and she felt it grow heavier in her hand.

"I'm not hungry."

Maybe it was the memory of Thatcher drunk at her mother's funeral or every other drug addict who came through Seattle Grace, but something compelled Lexie to shake her head. Keeping her voice gentle, she said, "I'm sorry, I don't think I have any on me, but are you sure I can't get you a sandwich or something?"

The bag tore and the carton of ice cream fell to the pavement, disappearing under her car. "Damn," she said again, bending down for the second time.

The first blow stunned her and her knees hit the ground as she willed the ringing in her head to cease. The second one flattened her and gravel dug into her cheek as she stared ahead. Before the third blow afforded her darkness, she saw the carton rolling on its side under her car.

It would melt soon.

_**AN: Please review! It's my sustenance. Also, don't worry about Lexie, I'm going somewhere with this, I promise. =)**_


	2. Chapter 1: The Darkest Hour

_**AN: Thank you for all of those who reviewed and for all those who keeping adding my work to their alerts, it's very flattering. =)**_

_**Standard disclaimers apply and, despite due diligence, the inevitable mistakes are my fault. **_

Remembrance

Chapter One: The Darkest Hour

His pager and cellphone ran in perfect unison and he frowned at them as he held one in each hand.

"Derek," he said, letting the pager drop onto the comforter.

"Mark." It was said as a sigh.

"Do I bother you on your nights off?"

"Mark," he repeated. "It's Lexie."

He listed for a while, his spine straightening with every passing work. By the time Derek had moved on to details, he'd stopped listening. The phone discarded, he pulled clothes on as he walked toward the front door. Derek's voice filled the empty bedroom behind him.

Ten minutes later, Mark used the heel of his hand to push through the swinging door of Trauma 2.

"What the hell happened?" he barked.

An ER resident and intern looked up from the gurney. The resident took in his denim and leather and a look of irritation chased away his surprise. "Sir, you need to leave."

Mark walked closer to the gurney. The intern recognized him. "Dr. Sloan," she said, more for the benefit of her resident. Then: "Jane Doe with blunt force trauma to the head."

It was then the two doctors moved and he saw the shorter frame of Miranda Bailey near the wall of the small room. Her arms were crossed over her chest, the yellow gown awkwardly billowing around her. "She has a name," she said quietly. "Lexie Grey."

He looked down at the patient's ashen face and felt his gut drop like a severed elevator. Her skin was blanched of all color, leaving her eyebrows stark by contrast. It made the crimson on the bed look far too vivid, comic even, to be real.

Adrenaline pumped his heart faster.

"I already asked for a neuro consult," the resident said.

He brushed the kid to the side to check her breathing and pupils. "I'm not here to give you a consult."

"This is _my_ case," the resident said, his voice belligerent.

"Do you really think I'm here to steal your patient?"

"Dr. Sloan." Miranda's hand went on his sleeve and tried to pull him back. He shrugged her off. "They don't think she's surgical."

The resident divided a suspicious look between them. "You're from surgery, too?" he asked, wary. "Look, I don't—"

"Why don't you spend less time talking and more time keeping her blood _inside_ her body." It wasn't a question.

"We've already stopped the bleeding." It was curt. The resident pulled off his gloves, glaring at Mark the entire time. "Robbins here was about to take her to CT."

The intern, wondering if it was better to piss of her own resident or someone else's attending, put a hesitant hand on the gurney.

Mark took over, rolling it toward the door. "I'll do it." The intern looked grateful to have the choice taken away from her.

"Dr. Sloan." Miranda tried again, stepping forward with her hand out.

He just glowered. She started to stare him down and gave up halfway through, blowing out her breath. "Take Dr. Shephard with you."

Six minutes later Lexie was halfway through the scan and Mark was entirely through his patience.

"What the hell is taking so long?" he asked, pacing the small length of the attached room. He looked out the glass to her immobile body. The gown swallowed her frame. "Is this machine broken? Should we use a different one?"

Derek leaned back in his chair to look at his friend before returning to the monitor, waiting for the image to upload. "Mark, it's not the machine. Give it two more minutes."

Feet apart, he stood behind Derek as the scan finished. With one arm around his abdomen, he pressed a fist against his mouth to keep from shouting. "That's a contusion," he said abruptly, pointing at the screen. "Right? That's a contusion."

Derek looked up, saw the expression on Mark's face and swallowed his comment about hovering. "Yes," he said instead. "That's a contusion."

Mark squinted at the screen. "It's big."

Derek stood up and squared his shoulders to match Mark's so that they were looking at each other. "I've seen bigger. As long as we can control the swelling, she won't need surgery."

He nodded. "Okay." One hand lifted to rub his jaw. "Okay. So we keep her blood pressure down and—"

Derek clamped his hands around Mark's shoulders to stop him. "Mark. _Mark_, she's going to be fine. She's breathing on her own and—"

Mark moved away from him to the door. "What about brain activity? I didn't even ask that idiot about brain activity. Her pupils…"

When Derek didn't follow him out, Mark turned. One look at his friend's face had him back in the room, door slamming behind them. "What? What do you know?"

"She's unresponsive, but you know as well as I do that—"

"Try again."

Derek nodded. "We will."

"_Now_."

It took the combined efforts of Drs. Bailey and Shephard to keep him out of Lexie's room while her doctor checked her bandages for continued bleeding.

And suddenly there was time. Time to think thoughts he didn't want to entertain. His jacket discarded, he pushed up his sleeves with impatient hands. With nothing to hold onto or cut with or do, his hands felt increasingly useless.

"Do they—does anyone know what happened?" he asked, his voice cutting through the tacit agreement to remain silent. Miranda exchanged a look with Derek, who gave an almost imperceptible nod of his dark head. Irritation flashed through him and his ineffective hands clenched into fists.

"The police say it was a mugging," Miranda finally said, leaning against the opposite wall, her eyes lowered.

"A mugging?" It would have been laughable if he hadn't felt like someone had steamrolled over his body. Was still streamrolling. "She just went out for ice cream; she couldn't have had more than five dollars on her." His arms went up behind his head and he clamped down hard on his neck.

Through the blinds of the room he could see the resident removing the gauze around her head. There was blood, he realized numbly, but he couldn't tell if it was fresh or not. Something in him told him to be grateful there hadn't been a shooting or stabbing involved.

"Did he hit her? Did she fall?"

Here another look was exchanged. Derek took over talking. "They found a baseball bat next to her. The police are trying to get some prints off of it."

Any obligation to drum up some gratitude to some higher deity flew out the window.

"Jesus Christ." He choked on the words, the syllables half strangled. He doubled over at the waist, his hands resting on his knees while he focused on breathing. When he stood, the blood rushed away from his head and for a long moment he saw red. Then: "Are there any other injuries?"

Miranda shook her head. "Some bruising on her chest and legs, but nothing—" she cut herself off and cleared her throat.

"Serious?" Mark filled in with a bark of laughter.

The resident was barely out the door with a nod of his head before Mark brushed by him on his way inside. Lips bloodless, head swaddled and pathetically small, she looked like a child. A child he'd been trusted with, and miserably failed.

Gripping the light he had taken from Derek, he hovered over her body for a moment, afraid to touch her. Taking pains to be careful, he pulled back her eyelids, hoping for a reaction so hard he almost imagined one that didn't exist.

"Lexie," he said, his voice hoarse and barely audible. "Lexie," he tried again, stronger this time. "Lexie!" he shouted, using a tone he only employed when she used his razor.

Nothing.

He pinched the inside of her elbow. She was sensitive there. After two more tries he rubbed his face; the adrenalin had faded and exhaustion was eager to act as a substitute. Then he stared at her face, wishing, wishing, wishing she'd look as pink and frustrated as she had when he'd conned her out of an ice cream run.

Guilt, familiar and cold, sliced through his veins. There would time for guilt later. Plenty of time.

He rubbed his knuckles against her sternum and her chest jerked away from his touch. The breath whooshed out of him and he stumbled back a step, nearly crushed by his relief. His shoulders sagged, releasing tension so tight it was as painful to let it go as it was to hold on.

He looked up and saw Miranda purse her lips and blow out a steady breath. Derek let his head fall back against the wall. Their postures were twin expressions of weary gratitude.

"We'll start suturing in about an hour, when we're sure the bleeding's stopped."

Without looking up from her face, he shook his head once. "I'll do it."

Derek opened his mouth to protest and Mark, sensing what was imminent, curbed him. "I don't want some intern stapling her head, giving her a botched facelift. It's her head, Derek." His voice wavered as his fingers reached out to float above her cheek. Curling them in, he didn't touch her. "She's beautiful, isn't she?" Without waiting for an answer, his eyes steady, he continued. "I'll do it. I can give her that much at least."

_**AN: Please review! It's my sustenance. **_


	3. Chapter 2: Strangers

_**AN: Hope you enjoy!**_

_**Standard disclaimers apply and, despite due diligence, the inevitable mistakes are my fault. **_

Remembrance

Chapter Two: Strangers

She awoke twenty-eight hours after he sutured her wounds closed. He spent over an hour stitching, moving slower than he had ever done. His gloved hands worked in a deliberate dance as he weaved the thread and needle driver to make a series of perfect lines and knots. His hands never wavered, but, then again, he never allowed himself to look at her face. The resolve not to look faltered when he tended to the cut near her temple. It wasn't a result of the bat, this cut was too clean.

Maybe glass, he thought, valiantly trying to remain detached. Maybe there was glass on the ground when she had fallen after—

He swallowed the lump in his throat and averted his eyes back to her scalp instead of her nose, her cheekbones, the almost imperceptible cleft in her chin.

He decided not to stitch the wounds higher on her scalp. He wouldn't let them shave her hair; when she woke up she'd been good and pissed if he had. Vanity alone didn't compel him, he knew it would hurt and even if she wasn't awake, she could feel pain. Instead he twisted her hair around the lacerations, planting droplets of adhesive as he went.

After he finished, he stepped out to call a nurse for a chair. Thatcher stood in the hallway talking to a nurse, twitchy and nervous as always.

"No," he said, though no one was around to hear. The door shut behind him as he stepped into the hall. He strode toward Lexie's father, who looked up.

Arms crossed over his chest, he repeated himself. "No."

"Is she—"

"Dead? No."

The older man nodded, rubbing his palm over his mouth. "Can I—"

"See her? No."

Derek came to stand next to him. "She's in ICU," he explained, his voice kinder than Mark's. "She won't be able to have visitors for a while."

"But I'm family."

Mark snorted. Derek gave him a quelling look. "Thatcher, we can call if there's any change. Just leave your number at the desk."

Thatcher shook his head, the skin under his eyes puffy. Mark didn't smell any alcohol on him, but his eyes were wary as he took in the older man's bloodshot eyes. "I'll wait."

"You'll be waiting forever."

"Mark." Derek put an arm on his shoulder to guide him back to Lexie's room.

"I just—I just want to know what happened."

Thatcher's voice, victimized and thready, stopped him. Back stiff, he spun on his heels and out of Derek's grasp. Stalking up to the other man, he didn't stop until they were practically nose-to-nose. He had to bend his head, but Mark made sure they held eye contact.

"You want to know what happened? Here: First you left one daughter, then you left another and now you don't get to be sorry."

Derek remained silent as Mark stepped back to stand with him. Thatcher divided a look between them, his eyes bouncing from the disdain on their faces to the walls to the nurse's station. Once his gaze settled on the ceiling, he said, "She's still my daughter."

Mark nodded. "Maybe. But you also have a third daughter. Can you go infect her with Daddy issues and leave Lexie alone?"

As if hoping to appeal to Derek, Thatcher looked at him. Derek lifted one shoulder before letting it fall, the action mutely eloquent. "We kind of have our hands full with your work already."

They turned away from the other man together. On the way back to Lexie's room, Mark asked, "Does Meredith know?"

Derek shook his head. "She's been in surgery for the past four hours."

"You'll tell her when she comes out?"

Derek nodded and Mark mimicked the action. Chair in hand, he opened the door. "Hopefully Thatcher will have left by then."

"Yeah," Derek said, running a hand through his disheveled hair. Mark noticed the uneven stubble marring his lower face. "Hopefully."

Two hours later, Mark was still by her bedside, fingers pressed against his lips, when Meredith arrived. He looked up to see her, her slender figure barely darkening the doorway. The sun had awakened and rays of cold light crept into the room, illuminating Lexie's pallor. Meredith stood there for a long moment, as if debating whether to enter.

The choice was hers, which he conveyed by returning his gaze to Lexie. Decision made, Meredith stepped into the room, one hand reaching up to pull off her scrub cap in deference.

"How—" Mark saw her throat bob as she swallowed. "How is she?"

"Stable."

The question was whispered, as was his answer. There was a hushed reverence in the room that neither wished to violate. He had learned to drown out the intermittent beeps from the monitors long ago.

"Dr. Sloan—Mark, I am so sorry." She stood on the other side of Lexie's bed, looking over her body to his seated form.

He took the platitude in stride, added it to the collection he'd heard since visitors had been allowed. Hers was a slight variation; it was intended for him and not her unconscious sister.

"Have you seen your father?" he asked, his voice husky from disuse.

She looked surprised, her eyes flickering back to Lexie. "He's here?"

Mark shrugged. "He was."

Her eyes went to the door as if expecting Thatcher to appear. "Derek didn't say."

"Maybe he didn't think he was worth mentioning."

Meredith hesitated before asking, "Was he…I mean, had he been…"

"Drinking?" Mark let his ankle drop from his knee and rose. He smoothed Lexie's hair back, taking care not to disrupt the healing wounds. "Didn't look like it."

She nodded at the information. It served to fill the space. Thatcher's status on or off the wagon had had nothing to do with her for a long time now.

In the spirit of saying something, anything, she tried, "You should eat something."

"I'm fine."

Having expected as much, she nodded even though he wasn't looking at her. She backed out into the hall, where Derek was waiting for her, probably afraid she'd fall apart at the prospect of losing someone yet again.

"I'm glad you went inside," he said, taking her hand. "You okay?"

She let his fingers slide through her own. "I'm just trying to remember the last thing I said to her."

His hand gave hers a squeeze. They turned to look through the open blinds of Lexie's room. Mark had resumed his vigil in the chair.

"Mark doing any better?"

"Of course not," she said, their hands still attached. "She's his person."

*********

In the twenty-seventh hour, Derek came in with a sandwich from the deli Mark hated only a bit less than the cafeteria. Mark thanked him and put the bag next to him.

Derek watched and let out a heavy sigh. "Fine. Don't eat. But shower. You stink and when she wakes up she won't want to be anywhere near you."

That pulled a noise out of him that was strangely reminiscent of a chuckle. It seemed to echo in the room. He ran a hand across his jaw while he stood. "Okay. I'll be in the locker room. Find me if something happens."

Derek nodded. "I'll stay with her until you get back."

That mattered. There was import in not leaving her alone; she shouldn't have to be alone.

So he turned on the way to the door and said over his shoulder: "Thanks."

While he brushed his teeth over the sink he caught his reflection in the mirror. He looked like he had lived every single one of his years. Grim, he turned away to strip and stand under the showerhead. Ducking his head under the hot spray, he raised a forearm to the tile and pressed his head against it.

When things ended, he realized, you started thinking about the beginning. His mind showed him a reel of when he'd first seen her. Burke's bachelor party, the night before the wedding that never was. She'd been a girl in a bar wearing what he later found out was a funeral dress. She had talked to Derek first, because women…they all saw goodness in Derek, even when they later ended up sleeping with his jerk of a best friend.

At the time, he'd seen her short hair and slim figure and hoped that Derek would take the stranger home, if only to get Meredith out of his mind. That's what best friends did—they wished good sex on each other. And now, under the shower, Mark's gut clenched to think about what would have happened had Derek been as big of a manwhore as he himself had been.

Then there was the time he'd actually _seen_ her. Standing across a gurney with a face too shiny and fresh to believe, she'd demanded kindness. That she had bothered to request it from him, that she hadn't automatically known to just expect less from him as a human being—it stood for something, even then.

His eyes closed. For a moment, for an eternity. When they jerked open, he felt a sense of displacement that told him he'd fallen asleep. Cursing, he sluiced the water off his body and dressed in a pair of cerulean scrubs without bothering to towel off.

He saw his lab coat hanging in his locker and, out of sheer habit, he pulled it on as he left the room.

Derek was just leaving her room as he approached. His face was wary. "Mark—"

"Has there been any change?"

"She's awake, but—"

"Awake," he repeated as if the word had lost meaning. Rivulets of water ran from his wet hair down his neck. His scrub top absorbed the moisture. Despite himself, he shivered. "When?"

"Fifteen minutes ago."

He suppressed the urge to yell. "Is she talking?"

Here Derek's face twisted into an expression he couldn't read. It almost looked like pity. "Yes." Mark felt an irrational stab of jealousy that he wasn't there to share that moment. It should have been his. "Mark, there's something you need to know."

"Later," he said, brushing past him to get into the room.

The top of the hospital bed had been lifted so she was semi-sitting. Her eyes tracked his movements into the room. She avoided his eyes, staring at down at the lapel of his coat instead. There was a fresh bandage on and around her head, but she looked alive. Color had infused her cheeks and lips.

"Lexie," he breathed, walking closer.

She gave a tentative smile. "Dr. Sloan."

His feet faltered at the greeting. It wasn't that she called him Dr. Sloan, she'd done that plenty of times, even when they were alone, even after they'd moved in together.

It was the way she said it. Before, it had always been playful, mocking on occasion. Now her voice was friendly, kind—one couldn't expect less from Lexie—but it was formal. As if their clothing didn't fall into the same laundry basket each day or they had never moved against each other on sticky sheets after eating ice cream in bed.

The final steps to her bedside were hesitant. He didn't say anything for a long time, staring intently into her eyes until he could see himself reflected in them.

She shifted under his scrutiny, the fine bones and veins in the back of her hand rising. "I already met with the neurosurgeon, er—Dr. Shephard?" There was a lilt at the end of her sentence, giving him a segue to speak up if he knew to whom she was referring.

"Derek," he said, as if on automaton. Unable to tear his eyes off of her, he scanned her features for a hint of their history and came up empty.

"Right."

Silence. He was making her uncomfortable; that was apparent with the way she struggled for something to say. "I—So are you here to…."

He cleared his throat, still stunned. "I'm here to see you."

She nodded. "Yes. I…" She laughed then, the sound so familiar he knew, he just _knew_ he had to have imagined the entire awkward conversation thus far. "Is there something else wrong with me? Other than my head, I mean." Her slender fingers lifted to gesture to her bandaged head.

As he stood in silence, she grew increasingly worried. "You're not from Cardio, are you? Tell me there isn't anything wrong with my heart." When he didn't answer, she fiddled with the sheet in her lap. "I mean, I looked at my chart. I know I'm not supposed to, but I'm a doctor, too, I think. And I couldn't _not_ look. Anyway, I didn't see any—"

He found his voice and croaked, "I'm the head of Plastics."

She blinked. "Plastics?" She smiled, the gesture good-natured. "No, thanks. I mean I'm sure you're great, but I like my face." Her smile died. "I think." Her hands flew up to pat her features. "Oh, my god." She looked at him with panic that mirrored his own, only his was firmly tucked inside. "Do I need a Reconstruction? Did the—accident or whatever, did it—"

He cleared his throat to interrupt her. "No, uh—Ms. Grey." Then brusque, he said, "Your face is fine." When she didn't look satisfied, he amended, "It's good, great. It's a—a great face." He backed out of the room as he spoke and she no longer looked frightened, just confused.

"Okay. Well, thank you, ah—" Here her eyes flitted down to his lab coat once again and he knew earlier she hadn't been avoiding his eyes. "Dr. Sloan."

Outside the room, Derek was waiting. His arms crossed over his chest, he looked up. Mark ran a hand over his face; he felt sick.

"It could be temporary," he said quietly.

Mark nodded without agreeing. "It could not be."

_**AN: Please review! It's my sustenance. **_


	4. Chapter 3: Relativity

_**AN: I absolutely loved what the writers did with Lexie and Mark's respective characters. I was so happy they didn't make Lexie simper, beg, or trail around. AND they made Mark adorably awkward and tortured. Plus, he called her fantastic, mind-blowing AND admitted to being "obsessed". All in all, a good Thursday night!**_

"_**Fine, but you're not touching anything, get it? No touching."**_

"_**Sexed up stalkers."**_

_**Standard disclaimers apply and, despite due diligence, the inevitable mistakes are my fault. **_

Remembrance

Chapter Three: Relativity

During the first two days of her hospital stay, she studied. As if afraid everything in her brain had fallen out, or would fall out, Lexie begged, borrowed, and stole medical textbooks.

Mark stopped by her room every hour, each time hellbent on telling her who he was, who she was. And each time, he saw her pouring over the books, worrying her lower lip with her teeth as she quizzed herself, and his resolve melted.

He had never seen her study like that—not even when preparing for her intern exam. Of course, back then, she'd had him to distract her. Repeatedly. He'd made a noble effort to help her study. But invariably, what started out as noble ended up as naked.

"_This would go a lot faster if you'd stop doing that," she said, tapping a yellow flashcard against her forehead as though she'd learn via osmosis. _

_He lifted his head from her neck. "This would go a lot faster," he corrected, "if you'd put down the cards and work with me here."_

"_You're just mad because you're losing."_

"_It's not really losing if I don't have to take the exam."_

"_Well, I do. And if I fail, I don't get to be a resident and thus, slightly higher than a grunt." Smacking her mouth against his, she pushed him to his side of the couch. _

"_Junior residents are still grunts," he said. "And idiots."_

_She stared at him. "You realize that you were once an intern, right? That you weren't just born an omnipotent attending."_

_He snorted, taking a swig of his beer. Pulling a pile of cards out from under him, he tossed them on the coffee table. "Of course I was."_

_Tilting her head, she looked as if she were about to say something. Then, shaking her head instead, she handed him some flashcards. _

_He sighed and took them from her. Leaning back, he read it to her. Then said, "I don't understand, I got you Callie's cards, can't you just take photographs of them with your head?" _

"_I'm going to know it and know it cold. I'm not going to be in that test trying to remember pictures of colored squares. Now repeat the question." She leaned against one of the couch's armrests. Their legs tangled somewhere around the middle sofa seat. _

"_Signs of residual eye infection," he said, watching the way her toes wiggled against his. The polish on her nails glinted under the light. _

_She snapped three times. "Pus, fever, and redness."_

_He let his head fall back against the armrest._

"_Ha!" she shouted. "In your face. Take off the shirt, pretty boy."_

_After he wiggled out of it, he let it drop to join the socks and belt he'd already discarded. _

_Two cards later, he was naked. They never made it to be bedroom, only managing to roll onto the living room floor and take half the stack of cards with them. _

_Callie hadn't wanted them back. _

In the end, she was the one who initiated their confrontation. He shouldn't have been surprised. For a slip of a girl, Lexie was stubborn as hell and surprisingly good at getting what she wanted.

"Dr. Sloan," she called out as he passed by the open door to her room. He stopped and backtracked until he was in the doorway. She remained silent, staring at him with brown eyes that took up half her face. Conceding some war he didn't know they were engaged in, he stepped in the room.

Taking it as the triumph it was, she smiled. "Sorry, I know you must be busy. But—well—I have some questions." She closed the medical journal in her lap and sat up straighter.

He nodded once, rocking back on his heels as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his lab coat. Hoping the vein in his neck wasn't thrumming to give away his erratic pulse, he strove for nonchalance.

"Here's the thing," she started, squinting one eye as she angled her head. The gesture was achingly familiar. "I didn't have any personal effects on me; no ID or wallet or anything. And my chart was originally for a Jane Doe. But people call me Lexie—they won't tell me anything else, but they call me Lexie or Dr. Grey."

He remained silent.

Exasperated, she pressed. "You don't find that strange?" Without waiting for an answer, possibly realizing, on some level, she wasn't going to receive one, she continued, "Fine. It's not strange that people know me here because I…"

Nothing. She threw her hands up. "…work here." She paused for a beat. "Right?" For the first time, her voice showed some uncertainty.

He looked at the journal in her lap instead of her eyes. "Right."

She visibly brightened. "Great. So you can help me—"

He cleared his throat. Time. He needed more time. "You know," he said, "we should probably wait on Dr. Shepherd. Your memory could return on its own soon and we don't want to do more damage in the mean time."

She was about to protest, he could see that, and so he left the room before she could convince him to stay.

The perfect opportunity, the one he'd been waiting for, had just presented itself and he'd left track marks making his getaway. Because maybe, he realized, maybe Lexie's condition was a gift. One he'd be a fool not to accept. There were things he did his damnedest to forget everyday. Things she didn't need to remember. Things she'd be happier forgetting. Forgetting led to forgiving and—he swallowed—he could use some of that.

There was a small part of him, a part that hadn't existed before Lexie—or at least hadn't been so vocal—that told him it amounted to lying. But there was a bigger part of him—one that also hadn't existed before Lexie—a part born of fierce protectiveness that told him it was for the best.

******

Meredith stopped by to have lunch with her that day. Lexie watched the other girl balance the cafeteria tray on her lap as she sat.

"I'm going crazy," she announced.

"Join the club," Meredith muttered.

"Clearly I know you, clearly we work together. You wouldn't be here if we didn't. Could you just tell me something, _anything_?" Lexie stabbed a potato with a vicious jerk of her wrist. Hospital food was worth forgetting. Twice. "Are we friends?"

Meredith let out an indelicate snort. "Not exactly."

Irritation swept through Lexie and she let her fork drop. "Then why are you here?"

"I'm your boss. Kind of."

"Dr. Yang is—was—my resident."

Meredith looked up, surprise evident on her pale features. "Cristina came to see you?"

"Yeah, long enough to tell me the amnesia story wasn't going to get me out of charting."

That brought a smile to both their lips. They stared at each other for a moment before Meredith sighed, putting down her uneaten sandwich.

"We have the same father."

"So we're…"

"Sisters," Meredith supplied. "Half-sisters."

Lexie nodded. Here voice was dry when she said, "Don't look so happy about it. I might cry."

Whatever reaction Meredith had been expecting, Lexie hadn't delivered because her sister just looked stunned. Then she laughed, the sound high and girly. Lexie simply stared, wondering how such a light sound could come from someone who always looked so solemn. The contradiction alone was enough to make Lexie laugh as well.

When the sounds in the room ceased and they were back to silence, Lexie said, "Our father, is he…here?"

Meredith hesitated, the bangs framing her face falling forward as she looked down at her locked hands. "We don't—I mean, neither of us really keep in touch with him. But he did come to see you, we just figured you wouldn't want to see him." Meredith waved a hand around, as if encompassing Lexie's entire condition. "But then, you woke up and we realized—"

"You keep saying 'we'. Who's 'we'?" She resumed eating, foraging through peas to find more carrots.

Meredith blew out her breath; this was clearly something she didn't consider her territory. "I should call Dr.—"

"No," Lexie interrupted. "Someone has to tell me. You can't all keep foisting me off on someone else." When Meredith remained quiet, she continued coaxing. "I'll give you my pudding if you tell me something juicy."

Meredith looked at the tray. "What kind?"

Lexie picked it up and waved it around. "Chocolate."

Meredith reached for the cup, but Lexie snatched it back. "You first."

Crossing her arms over her scrub top, Meredith glared. "You live with your boyfriend." Then she grabbed the pudding out of Lexie's then slack arm.

"Boyfriend?" Lexie looked around the hospital as if expecting him to appear. "Here? At the hospital? Who? Why hasn't he visited?"

Meredith was quiet. Lexie narrowed her eyes and picked something off her hospital tray. "Talk or no spoon."

Meredith sighed, tossing the pudding cup back onto Lexie's tray. "I'm sure he wants to be the one to tell you…and he's kind of my boss so I don't need him making my life miserable." She grimaced. "More miserable."

Lexie ripped into the pudding cup. "Evidently, talking to me isn't a priority." She licked the lid before discarding it. "Would you just give me a name?"

A pager went off and though Lexie instinctively reached for her waist, Meredith actually had one on her. She hopped up and made her way to the door.

"Meredith!"

She turned, watching Lexie shovel in a forkful of pudding. "McSteamy," she said.

Lexie stared back at her, her spoon froze in midair. Around a mouthful of pudding, she managed out, "I live with a man named McSteamy?"

Meredith shrugged, closing the door on her way out.

*******

"Dr. Shepherd?" she asked, blinking as he flashed light into her eyes.

"Hmm?" He moved around to check the other eye. She followed his movements before shifting to look at Meredith, who stood near the wall with an armful of charts.

"I hear I have a boyfriend."

He coughed. "I see."

"One who hasn't been here to introduce himself."

"Ah—well…"

Lexie moved her head back to look at him. Taking in his hair and his dark scrubs and her sister in the corner, she interrupted, "Wait, you're not McSteamy, are you?"

"Ah, no, I'm McDreamy," he said quickly. Then he had the grace to look chagrined when Meredith glared at him. Lexie's eyes bounced between the two of them. "I mean, _they_ call me McDreamy."

"Do you _know_ McSteamy?"

"Unfortunately," he sighed.

"Do you know why he hasn't stopped by?" When no one said anything, she attempted levity. "I mean, I'm not high maintenance—at least, I don't think I am—but if a girl can't expect a visit after cracking her head open, when can she, right?"

The valiant stab at humor fell flat when the two people with working memories just avoided looking at her.

She felt prickly then, uncomfortable. The memory thing hadn't really bothered her yet, strangely enough. That is, not until now, when she felt excluded from a secret to which the entire world was privy.

"What? Did he dump me or something? It's okay, I mean…I can't remember so no big loss."

Another doctor entered then, closing the door behind him as he sensed the tension in the room. The silence continued, but when both her sister and doctor looked at the new man and then her, she knew.

"Dr. Sloan?" she asked.

Mark opened his mouth to answer and then realized Lexie wasn't looking at him, but at her sister.

Meredith grabbed her silent pager. "Oh, crap. Look at that. I gotta—I have a patient." She nearly tripped over her own feet on her way out.

Derek followed suit, backing out of the room. "It's my patient, too, so…" With one final look at both of them, he left.

Alone, they stared at each other. Lexie knew an argument was no way to begin a second start. She tried to tell herself as much as he came closer, but it was no use; anger, arriving with a fluid ease that bespoke of precedent, churned in her gut and pushed through her tongue.

"You could have said something," she said, her voice tight.

"I know," he sighed, taking her hand. She slid it out from under his and used it to tuck a few strands of hair behind her ear. "But the first time I came in, I didn't know and then…"

"Then it just became easier to lie to me." She nodded.

"Lexie...." His face stretched into an expression of pain and she felt something tug inside her. Anger dissolved into empathy so quickly she knew a moment of shame for being so fickle.

"Yes?"

He moved closer, as if to kiss her and then reversed, thinking better of it. "I'm so, so, so—" his voice grew gruff, "glad you're here."

The raw emotion, even from someone she could only call a stranger, drew a lump in her throat. Her eyes grew bright, which, she told herself, was completely uncalled for. Blinking, she lowered her eyes and watched as her hand slid under his on the hospital bed. His fingers gripped hers in an embrace that bordered on pain.

"I have some questions."

He hesitated, before nodding. His voice, however, was still wary when he said, "I may have some answers."

"My parents."

Something in her told her it was relief that blanketed his eyes. He shifted, looking behind him for the chair. Taking her cue, she scooted over on the bed and he sat down. Their hips brushed and neither of them moved. She could feel the heat from his skin radiating into her own.

He seemed to be taking time to collect his thoughts and she knew from his face, with an intuition that was somewhat disconcerting, that it would be bad news. "First you should know your parents love you—"

"I'm not twelve," she said. "Don't treat me like I am."

He wanted to tell her she shouldn't have to know, that she should just let him protect her because it was better for them all this way. But he just nodded instead, because refusing Lexie had always been like climbing Everest. Something he couldn't do even if he'd wanted to.

"You," he started again, his hand never leaving hers, "are the child of a mother who shouldn't have died and an alcoholic father who's too weak to stop missing her long enough to realize he has children."

She sucked in a deep breath and he could have kicked himself. "Thank you," she said, the words so genuine they made him feel about ten times worse. She looked around the room, her eyes falling down to her textbooks. "Well, that nixes my second question, so let me think for a second."

"What was your second question?"

She gave him a watery smile. "When do I get to go home?"

He frowned. "Lexie," he said, trying to go slow, not wanting to scare her. "We share an apartment."

She surprised him by nodding. "I know, but I—considering the circumstances, I figured it might be easier to stay…" she faltered, before finishing with, "…elsewhere."

He was prepared to be lenient, to go easy on her. But there were issues on which he wouldn't budge. "Why?" Blunt came naturally; it was the walking on eggshells that made him feel out of his element.

Thrown, she flailed for a way to explain. "It's just—that you—and me…"

"Yes?"

She sawed a hand back and forth in the space between them. "We are—well, we _were_, and you would expect, quite naturally, and I'm not sure I could—"

He stood up. "You think I'm going to demand sex from you the minute you arrive?"

Color flushed her cheeks and for a moment he was taken back to how she'd looked against the gurney, blood haloing her head and draining her face. The image was so vivid his arm almost jerked out to touch her skin and test its warmth.

"No, of course not!" How had she ended up sounding so crass? Not to mention rude and ungrateful.

"Good," he said, all umbrage gone. She had the sneaking suspicion she'd just been played. "Then there's no problem. Derek says you'll probably be discharged Friday. I'll drive you."

Then he smiled, his lips breaking from the stern line to reveal a row of even, white teeth.

And Lexie had time to look at him. Really look at him. His face was a series of harshly cut angles and slants that somehow managed to be beautiful. Closely trimmed hair lined the slash of his jaw and, as her eyes lifted up, she took in the gray peppering his temples.

"How old are you?" she asked abruptly, too busy staring to finesse any subtlety.

His jaw clenched and she had a feeling he didn't like the question. At all. "Thirty-seven," he answered.

"How old am I?"

"Twenty-five." There was such forced casualty in his reply, she knew the issue was a sore one.

She nodded then because there was no verbal response that could make their situation less awkward.

"You should rest," he said, moving away.

"No!" It was automatic and not a little bit desperate. "All I've done is rest. I'm done resting. I'm all rested. I'm ready to _do_."

His brows rose and she flushed again at what her words had implied. Heat suffused her body and though she wasn't quite sure of what she wanted, there was an overwhelming _awareness_ that made her shift under the hospital sheet.

"I'm going to rest," she muttered, willing him to leave and take his smoldering eyes with him.

No wonder they called him McSteamy.

_**AN: Please review! It's my sustenance. **_


	5. Chapter 4: Shiny Little Lies

_**AN: Anyone else looking forward to Thursday? Mama Shepherd?**_

_**Standard disclaimers apply and, despite due diligence, the inevitable mistakes are my fault. **_

Remembrance

Chapter Four: Shiny Little Lies

It was raining the day he took her home. Sutures removed and hair covering any physical scars, her excitement to leave the hospital room was almost palpable. But then, as they drove further away from the hospital and closer to the unknown, Mark felt her grow rigid in the seat next to him. By the time they were in the elevator, she was so tense her shoulders had taken residence next to her ears.

He gave her a sideways look. "If you don't relax, I'll get yelled at for raising your blood pressure."

That earned him a quick smile, her lips, some impossible pink color, stretched upward.

She trailed him out of the elevator and into the apartment, poking her head inside before allowing the rest of her body to follow suit. The kitchen, all gleaming steel and unmarred countertops, was the first thing she saw. It was a safe room, full of appliances and metal—not mattresses and pillows.

She stared into the impeccable space. "We don't cook much, do we?" Using "we" was a conscious decision, a sort of truce she hadn't known she wanted to commence. If he was overjoyed at the monumental step she'd made, one that tripped off of her tongue, he didn't show it.

"You did—you do." He flicked on the lights in the living room. She could see him above the attached breakfast nook. "Actually, you taught me a little."

Leaving the kitchen to join him, she strove to keep the conversation flowing. "Really?"

"Yeah, but I lack the patience for it." He smiled again and Lexie felt it all the way in her toes. And there it was again: that feeling of amazement. She didn't think she lacked in self-esteem; without overbearing conceit or narcissism, she liked what she saw in the mirror, but there was an almost unsettling feeling of awe when she was around Mark. Like it was some kind of miracle she'd managed to fascinate the man before her long enough for him want a home with her.

And that was the other thing. Mark Sloan was a man, there was no denying that. And she, well, even without knowing who she was, she still considered herself a girl on many levels. A girl who'd been involved with boys. Boys like…

She frowned, her eyes staring past the couch in the living room to focus on the image of a sweet face, full around the cheeks with only soft fuzz lining his jawline. She blinked and the image was gone.

"Lexie?" Mark asked carefully, angling his head out to capture her attention.

Her eyes found his and she blinked again. "Yeah, sorry." She waved a hand around her head. "I saw something, but then…it was nothing."

"Was it a memory?" His eyes narrowed and it could have been her hyper sensitive imagination, but his posture seemed to grow rigid, guarded.

"No, maybe." She shook her head as if to clear it. "It was just a face, but I have no idea whose." Forcing a bright smile, she said, "Are we continuing this tour?"

He studied her for a long moment and she avoided his gaze, focusing on the mantle above the fireplace. She walked along the line of photos in various angles on the ledge.

There was a younger version of the person she saw in the mirror, this time in a puffy dress with a crown on her head and flowers in her arms. She was beaming. Her cheek was pressed next to that of an older woman whose smile outshone her own.

"Is that…" she pointed.

Mark walked over. She could feel his solid warmth behind her and, suddenly tired, she felt the ridiculous urge to just lean back against him. Give the burden of holding herself up to him. "Susan," he said. "Your mother."

"Oh." She felt incredibly stupid. Although knowing she was being too hard on herself, she couldn't stop the thought from creeping up on her: What kind of person just up and forgot their mother?

The next picture was a self-portrait, as evidenced by Mark's arm extending from the edge. Only half her face was visible, the other half was squished against his as she bit his cheek with feral teeth, one eye on the camera the entire time. He looked faintly amused, his eyes a clear blue near her dark one.

"That was the night we moved you in."

She nodded and took a half step to stand in front of the next picture. He shadowed her. The frame held two boys, both undeniably lanky as they stood in front of a house. Lexie could practically see them shuffling their feet as they waited to be excused.

She tapped a finger over the taller boy. "This is you." It wasn't a question.

She felt him nod. "And Derek."

"How long have you known each other?"

"A lifetime."

There was assured security in the way he said that. Concrete. He had something guaranteed, unwavering in his life. Lexie knew a moment of envy but she couldn't place if she was envious of Mark or over him.

There was an awkward space in between the picture of the boys and the last one on the mantle. Lexie put her hand over the empty wood, as if willing the ensemble to be more complete. Giving up, she moved to the final photograph.

It must have also been taken the night she moved in because it was another self-portrait, but this time it was her arm holding the camera. They were attempting to kiss, but smiling too hard. She stared into the picture, willing it to restore her memory. Nothing happened, but she continued staring.

Was it even possible for people to be that happy?

Part of her resented the girl in the photograph. For giving herself something she may not have a hope of replicating. For setting her up for failure with the man behind her and all his unspoken expectations.

"How did we meet?" she asked suddenly, even though most of her didn't really want to know. Turning away from the mantle, she sat on the couch, tucking one foot under her. If she sat deep enough against the cushions, her flexed foot barely grazed the hardwood of the floor.

He followed her to the couch, keeping to the far side. Even sitting flush against the cushions, his legs extended out for what seemed like forever. "Are you sure you don't want to wait for—"

She shook her head, dark hair swinging. It looked warm in the light of the room, but he knew it was cool to the touch. He knew what the strands felt like against the spaces between his fingers.

"No, tell me now."

He cleared his throat and stared straight ahead at the opposite wall, where the black screen of the television stared back. She wondered if he was replaying it in his head because a small smile made his mouth crooked. "We met when you were an intern." Then he turned to face her, his smile now a grin that created twin grooves around his mouth. "One day you told me to shut up, the next, I was a goner."

She stared at him. "I wouldn't."

"You would," he confirmed. "You did. You have quite a mouth on you."

She digested that before asking, "Well, what else?"

He shrugged.

"Oh, come on. There has to be more. One 'shut up' didn't automatically lead to all this…" she trailed off and spread her arms out to gesture to the apartment.

He inclined his head in agreement. "We dated for a while before…'all this'," he quoted, aping her gesture.

"Dated," she echoed, her arms crossed over the back of the sofa. She propped her chin on her arms and looked over at him.

"Dated."

"Like dinners and movies and picnics."

He laughed then.

"Why do I find that hard to believe?" she asked. "Maybe because I'm pretty sure my intern year had to be spent living in the hospital with a caffeine IV?"

"Okay," he conceded, raising his hands palms out as if in surrender. "So most of our dates took place in bed."

Even though she had prompted the truth out of him, she still reddened, looking down at an invisible thread in the sofa. She plucked at it with her fingertips.

"But that was also because we were concerned about your sister," he finished and her head jerked up.

"Meaning?"

He sighed and sank deeper into the cushions. One arm lifted to cradle the back of the couch. His long arm filled the space between them and she could see his hands in close detail. "Meredith…had some concerns about us…getting involved." He blew out his breath. "So Derek asked that we not get involved period."

"Why would they have concerns?"

His eyes lifted to the ceiling before answering. "I think it was a combination of factors. You were young and just out of med school. I was—am older and—"

She nodded before cutting him off, much more interested in other things. "So were they upset when they found out?"

He let out a bark of laughter that made his chest shake. She watched the movement before forcing herself to focus on his words. "I'll say. They didn't talk to either of us for two months."

She gaped at him.

"But," he continued. "We kept on seeing each other." He shrugged. "And then, when they realized we weren't going to stop anytime soon, they figured their 'concerns' probably didn't matter so much."

It probably wasn't so neatly packaged; things rarely were. But it was so beautiful to hope. So she asked, her voice tentative. "So everything was okay?"

He squeezed her hand. "Everything _is_ okay."

They gazed at each other for a while, hands still connected. Then because amnesia gave her a free pass to ask anything and everything with a wide-eyed blank stare, she grew bold.

"Did we love each other?"

His hand tightened around hers once and then gentled, the movement so sudden, it felt like a spasm.

"Felt like it." Then, before she could think about what that cryptic answer meant, he stood up, releasing her hand. "You should get to bed."

"Ah, more rest," she said dryly, also getting to her feet.

When he made to leave the room, she stood still, unsure once again. Not wanting to offend him, she followed him into the hallway.

And there was then the issue that neither the kitchen nor the living room had prompted: Sleeping arrangements.

There was no question this man knew her body better than she did. He'd been familiar with it for over a year. She'd inhabited it for about a week. But mental blocks weren't overcome by logic alone.

He opened the door to a large bedroom, but didn't enter. He waited for her to step inside, staying in the doorway. "Your closet is the one closest to the bathroom," he said, pointing. "I put out some extra blankets, but you generally get hot at night."

That was a strange thing to hear, but then again, nothing about their conversation tonight had been normal. So she nodded her thanks, but stopped him when he turned to leave.

"Where—I mean—where will you..." There was no question in there, but he knew.

"I moved some of my things into the spare room. I had a bed delivered while you were in the hospital."

She wasn't sure what moved her more: the consideration of his actions or the self-effacing manner in which he listed them. Either way, she felt the warm tide of something ineffable roll through her, taking her breath as it subsided.

"I can sleep in the spare room."

He shook his head. "This is your room. You should stay here."

"It's your room, too," she corrected. "I don't want to kick you out of it."

He cocked his head to the side and stared at her, blue eyes full of amusement. "Is that an invitation?"

She looked at her feet. His laugh, husky and genuine filled the room. "Good night, Lexie."

"Night," she said, lifting her head when a click told her the door had shut. She turned into the room, taking in the vanity cluttered with bottles and compacts. Making a note to come back to it, she strode to her closet to find pajamas.

A few moments later, after rummaging through the dressers, she came to the realization that Lexie Grey was not someone who wore nightclothes with any frequency. Avoiding the thought that naturally followed—and the image of her naked body next to another naked body, she went through his drawers and found a Columbia shirt that, once donned, had the rough proportions of a tent.

She sat at the vanity and stared down at all her belongings, her small hands in her lap. A tub of lotion, tubes of gloss and mascara, bottles of clear nail polish and perfume. She touched each of them lightly, her fingers trailing over the toilette, trying to picture herself using them.

In the far corner, her hands stopped near a jewelry box. She lifted the wooden lid and saw part of Mark's blue shirt in the mirror behind it. Pulling out the accordion compartments, she found a few pairs of tiny earrings. Studs and small hoops. She pulled away from the rows of neat jewelry.

It was ridiculous to feel as though she were snooping. As if to prove it, she threaded a pair of silver posts into her lobes.

She stared at her reflection in the larger mirror of the vanity. Shaking back her hair, she angled her head to see the metal glint against her skin. It was nice, she decided, having personal effects.

When she went to put the rest of the earrings back in their tiny shelves, one hoop fell to the bottom of the box. Two of her fingers felt around the dark corners until they brushed metal. She caught it around one fingertip and pulled it out.

It was a hoop all right, but not an earring. Her earring didn't greet her with a mocking wink that left her stomach unnaturally heavy. Her earring didn't have a two-carat diamond nestled in a platinum band that made her sick with the duplicity it represented.

_**AN: Please review! It's my sustenance. **_


	6. Chapter 5: Familiar

_**Standard disclaimers apply and, despite due diligence, the inevitable mistakes are my fault. **_

Remembrance

Chapter Five: Familiar

Unable to face its contents in living color, she stared at her hand in the mirror.

But the square stone glinting back at her didn't lose any brilliance in its reflection. If anything, it gained a million more facets and caught even more light. Its luster mocked her, her in her oversized shirt and mussed hair and pallid face. The incongruent tableau she made could have been humorous in another life. In this one, it was just pathetic.

So she pushed away from the vanity and, before she could talk herself out of it, she was out of one doorway and through another.

The room was dark, illuminated only by the city lights and a foggy moon. She saw his shadowy reach over to turn on the nightstand lamp, the natural oils of his skin gleaming.

He sat up against the headboard, the lamp throwing light on his bare torso. "Is everything all right?"

She walked until she was standing over him, the ring firm between her thumb and index finger. "What the hell is this?"

His eyes ran over her slim body all but swallowed beneath his shirt. Briefly resting on her bare thighs, they finally traveled to her hand. His brows rose a degree. As far as guilty expressions went, it was sorely lacking.

"Well?" she pressed.

"Judging from your tone, I'd say you've already figured it out."

"I found it in my jewelry box." It was unnecessary, but the only thing she could think of to say.

He nodded. Waited for her to continue, he wore such a patient expression, she wanted to smack him.

"So when we were talking earlier, you didn't think to mention _this?_" She shook the ring under his nose, spitting out the word as if it were offensive. Flopping down on the edge of the mattress, she gave him her side profile. "And why wasn't I wearing it when—" She cut herself off and whipped around to face him. He watched her face carefully, his features schooled into an expression of stoicism.

She leaned in closer, trying to extricate an answer out of his reaction. Half his face was still cast in darkness, making it near impossible.

"Unless we're not engaged," she said slowly. "Unless I said no."

"You didn't."

"But I didn't say yes."

His gaze was steady. "No, you didn't."

This was getting her nowhere. "Why didn't you say something earlier?"

Another shrug. "It didn't seem relevant."

"Of course it's relevant!" she shouted. Then, pressing her lips together as she collected herself, she tried again. "Why aren't we engaged? Why didn't I give you an answer?"

He rubbed a tired hand over his brow. "The only person who knows that is you."

There was no arguing with that. She slumped, suddenly aware of their thighs pressed against each other with only a thin bedsheet separating them. "What did I say? When you asked, I mean."

"You said you needed to think."

It was only then that she thought about _his_ pain. How such an ambivalent response, one bordering on rejection, must have affected him. She lifted her gaze to meet his and wanted to hug him, to let him know he was perfect, that clearly she was crazy.

"I'm sorry," she whispered instead, working around a lump in her throat.

He watched with undisguised interest as her small hand gripped the ring. "It's fine," he said. "You were honest. That's all I could have asked for."

If he didn't stop being so understanding, she'd cry from the sheer unfairness of it all.

She extended the ring toward him. "You should probably keep this."

He shook his head, his arms still by his sides. "No, you keep it. I bought it for you."

The ring was still pressed between her fingers and, unable to have it between them anymore, mocking both of them with unfulfilled hopes, she hid it in her fist.

"Please stop," she said, unable to keep the waver out of her voice. "You have to stop." Closing her eyes, she ducked her chin down to her chest.

"Hey," he said, reaching out to touch her upper arm. "Hey."

She lifted her chin, moisture clinging to her lashes, but refusing to spill. "You've been so understanding, so nice—"

His fingers trailed down her arm to cover her white knuckles. "I don't think anyone's ever accused me of being nice before," he said, his smile wry.

She ignored his attempt at levity, staring down at their hands. Her skin was pale, almost translucent under the light, while his was a warmer gold. The heat from his palm fused through her and she felt her fist slacken a bit.

She bit her lip. "You've done so much for me already, please don't do more than I can repay you for."

He was still for a long moment and she kept her eyes trained down on their hands. Then he pulled her to him, cradling her between his torso and arm. Her bare legs stretched out over the sheet next to his.

Even pointed, her feet were nowhere near his and he was reminded, once again, of how small she was.

"Why," he started after they remained like that for a while, "would you think you owe me something?"

He felt her sigh seep into his skin. "You're letting me stay here, you've given up your room, you're being so great about the whole ring debacle…all without…" She leaned back to meet his eyes. Swallowing hard, she asked, "You realize I may never remember?"

His fingers tightened around her. He nodded.

"And you're still—"

"This is your home," he interrupted, adjusting himself on the bed to give her more room. "There's nothing to repay."

She was quiet and he moved away long enough to lean over her so he could read her face. "Do you hear me, Lexie? Because I don't want this hanging between us."

Nodding mutely, she gazed up at him. The darkness bisected his face, throwing parts of his features in stark relief and she could make out the small groove on the underside of his straight nose. As she stared at his mouth, following the line of his lower lip, she felt her grasp on the ring loosen.

He stared down at her and then groaned, letting his head fall against the pillow next to her head.

"Don't look at me like that," he said, his voice muffled.

"I—"

"You're not ready," he continued, head still hidden. She wondered if he was talking to her or himself.

She nodded even though he couldn't see the movement. Moving to get up, she found his arms were still on either side of her, forming an effective cage.

When he finally lifted his head, she had turned the other way, her eyes on the lampshade. He laughed and she felt his breath stir the hair near her temple.

"What?"

He shook his head above her, the light catching a few silver strands of his hair. His eyes were so blue they were almost diaphanous. "You're wearing my shirt."

She shifted under him, her knees meeting out of instinct. "Sorry," she said.

"No, no, it's just…" he trailed off and then smiled. "I couldn't have forced you into that thing two weeks ago."

She cocked her head to the side, squinting one eye in question.

"You went to Harvard. I once caught you trying to give it to Goodwill."

She looked down at her chest, the white lettering scrunched.

"It looks good on you," he said.

"Thanks." She smiled and he returned it. She then nodded once, as if realizing something. "Sucks to be you," she said softly.

The words were so gentle, her face so serene, he thought he'd misheard her. "What?"

She nodded again. "To have a resident go to a better school than you? Sucks." She let out a low whistle.

He gave her a caustic chuckle before lifting a pillow in one deft motion and pressing it over her face. "Smartass."

She yelped beneath the down case, her hands flailing up to slap him away. When he finally eased up to give her air, she remained docile, using her fingers to pull away the chunks of hair flung across her face.

"I," she began tragically, "am recovering from _head_ trauma." She gripped the edge of her pillowcase. "And _you_," she said, "are a Neanderthal." Thumping him with the pillow once, she moved out from under him.

Or tried to. Grabbing a fistful of his own shirt, he hauled her back under him. From there, it was the most natural thing in the world to wrap her arms around his neck when he lowered his head to hers. There was nothing out of ordinary in the way they lay on their sides, legs intertwined as they kissed, his lips sipping at her lower lip, hers cradling his upper.

The beginnings of her laughter took even her by surprise. Her mouth shook against his, her lips widening as her eyes opened. He pulled back a fraction, his brow scrunched as he looked at her.

"I'm sorry," she said, still laughing. "It's not you." She laughed harder, rolling on her back to look at the ceiling.

He propped his head on his palm. "You don't say?"

"It's just that that was my first kiss." Still on her back, she rolled her head on the pillow to meet his eyes. His face was suffused with color, she noticed, even his ears were a bit pink. But he didn't look embarrassed, just…warm. "I mean, I know it isn't, but it's the only one I can remember."

He thought that one over and decided the liked the sound of those words on her lips. Leaning over to kiss her forehead before dropping back to the pillow, he said, "Turn off the light."

She obliged and in the darkness, through some memorized choreography, his arm found her waist. There were a few inches between their bodies, but his palm was flush against her lower abdomen. She rested her own hands atop his and slept.

*****

Five the next morning found her staring into the refrigerator, attempting to figure out what she liked. Ten minutes later, she had just settled onto a stool at the breakfast bar when he entered the kitchen.

His pajama bottoms, black and rumpled, rode low on his hips and when he bent to grab the carafe of orange juice out of the fridge, she was afforded an unrestricted view of his back. She wrapped her lips around her fork, forgetting it held no food.

She made sure her eyes were on her plate when he turned with a glass and smile for her.

"Morning," she murmured, lifting her fork once again.

It met the counter with a dull click as he snatched the plate away. Too stunned to say anything, she just looked at him incredulously as he dumped her eggs down the sink.

"I thought you said I could cook. I'm sure it's edible."

"You're allergic," he said. "Drink your juice."

"Oh," was her brilliant reply. She stared down at the glass in front of her, useless fork still in hand. "Thanks."

"No problem." He finished his glass and set it down in the sink.

"Any other allergies I should know about?"

"No." He paused thoughtfully. "But you hate apples. Or you used to."

She filed that away, making a mental note to try one later. She shifted in her stool, watching with a wary eye as he started the cappuccino maker. "So did Derek say anything about when I could start working again?"

The muscles in his back froze and she knew her attempt to make the question offhand had failed. He turned to face her slowly. "You were hit in the head with a baseball bat," he said slowly, as if the accident had affected her hearing

She sighed. "Yes, but it's been _ten_ days. And…" She swiveled to look around the apartment. "I can't just spend my life here."

"So see a movie, read a book, take naps." With one hand flat against the counter while the other one rode his hip, he stared her down.

She glared back. "I have amnesia, I'm not stupid. I still have my skill memory. Just because I'm fuzzy with facts doesn't mean I'm incompetent—"

"Did I say you were?"

"You suggested it!"

"Damn it, Lexie! Just do me a favor and take it easy for a few days, will you?" He turned back to the machine, mug in hand. "I'm already half—" He cut himself off with a curse as he jerked away from the machine, sucking the skin below his thumb.

"Are you okay?" she asked, a twinge of guilt in her voice.

"Fine," he said, assessing the burn for a moment before returning it to his mouth.

"Cold water might help," she said, leaning over the bar to turn on the tap. She smiled widely when he gave her a quelling look. "Maybe some aloe vera."

"All right," he said wryly, running his hand under the stream. "I get it. You're a doctor."

She beamed, her brown eyes curving up with what Mark could only call satisfaction.

"I'll talk to the Chief about it today."

She nodded. "When are you done for the day?"

He cleared his throat. "I'm not staying. Just postponing some surgeries."

"What?" She sat up straighter. "Why?"

"I'm staying with you for a couple of days."

She bristled, her grasp on the fork tightening. His eyes honed in on her weapon of choice with two careful, blue eyes. "I don't need a babysitter. I won't burn the place down."

Irritation flickered across his face. "Did I say that? Can't I just want to stay home with you? Maybe enjoy the pleasure of your charming company?"

The fight deflated out of her. How did he go from making her militant to repentant in less than three seconds?

She blew out her breath in the way of a martyr. "I suppose I _am_ charming."

He snorted. "As a cold sore."

She let that one pass. "Listen, do the surgeries you have scheduled for today. Then," she continued over the beginnings of his protest, "we can start our vacation tomorrow."

Suspicion narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"Because I want to wash my hair and watch bad television." She smiled. "And I want to snoop through your things and I can't do that with you here."

He studied at her for a long moment and she was certain he was going to refuse. "I'll be back around four."

She nodded and watched him leave for their bedroom. Less than half an hour later he was dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt, his hair still wet from his shower.

"Four," he repeated when he bent to kiss her goodbye. She tilted her chin up automatically and his mouth landed square against hers. "Second kiss," he said, his words the texture of an unpaved road. If she closed her eyes, she could swear his voice fairly rumbled.

Then he kissed her again and this time his tongue swept the inside of her mouth, the movement quick with practiced ease. "Third," he said over his shoulder, the front door closing behind him.

_Restraint_, she told herself, and managed to count up to five before launching herself off the stool and into their bedroom. Dragging the vanity stool up to her closet, she stood on it while rummaging through clothes, trying to find something, anything of importance.

Success arrived in the form of a shoebox. Curiosity piqued, she stretched upward until she had a firm grasp on the box. Two minutes later, closet doors still flung open, she was cross-legged on the bed, tearing through the photographs and various objects.

After two hours of staring at frozen images and holding random rubbish, she came to the conclusion a memory box was only useful if one actually remembered. If one didn't, it was all nonsense.

A pressed flower.

A slab of what looked like jagged concrete.

Letters and cards filled with illegible scrawls.

She had given up, idly holding a miniature trombone charm when her eyes fell on bright red foil shaped like rose. Putting the charm back in the box, she picked up the foil, surprised by how light it was. The chocolate was gone, but the foil had been carefully preserved to maintain its flower shape. She turned it over in her palm.

And promptly dropped it in surprise.

_**AN: Please review! **_


	7. Chapter 6: Shades of Grey

_**Standard disclaimers apply and, despite due diligence, the inevitable mistakes are my fault. **_

Remembrance

Chapter Six: Shades of Grey

_Three and Two, Lexie realized as she turned the corner with Steve, were going to be late. Which was bad enough when it was just Yang to contend with, but when Yang was meeting an attending, having late interns was unacceptable. _

"_Dr. Grey." Dr. Sloan stood near the patient's bedside, arms crossed over his chest, his feet apart as he glowered. "Thank you for joining us."_

_Lexie looked out of the corner of her eye to Steve, who ducked his head. "I'm sorry, Dr. S—"_

"_No,_ I'm_ sorry, Grey. Clearly whatever you were doing was far more important than reconstructing Ms. Sullivan's tongue."_

_Again, she looked at Steve, who now just looked grateful. He took a step away from her. She glared at him. _

_Dr. Sloan turned to Steve. "You," he said. "Have you read Ms. Sullivan's chart?" _

_Steve did his very best impression of a bobble-head and rattled off facts while Lexie tried to keep the heat out of her face. _

_Dr. Sloan nodded when Steve finished, his chin tucked to his chest while he stared over the ridge of his brows. "Yang, you and your intern can scrub in." He handed her the chart. "But you may want to teach Grey how to tell time." As he brushed out of the room, white-cloaked bodies moved out of his way. She followed suit, and resented her compliancy immediately. _

"_Three," Yang said. "When I page you, it's time to put Malibu Barbie down and get to work."_

"_But I—" She looked over Cristina's shoulder to where Steve stood. His face was apologetic and she swallowed her comment. "I'm sorry, Dr. Yang."_

_Cristina sighed, her lip curling in disgust. Then she smiled, shoving a stack of charts into her arms. Waving her hand in dismissal, she said, "Go."_

_Lexie turned to leave the room, her labcoat fluttering around her thighs. On her way to the elevator, he walked by her with Derek, matching Styrofoam cups in hand. He winked at her. She stared in incredulity. Unbelievable. _

_By the time she finished her nineteenth rectal exam, she was damn certain she'd never eat again. She ripped the nineteenth pair of gloves off her hands and tossed them in a nearby bin. The chalk residue of latex remained and she rubbed her palms against her coat. _

"_Dr. Yang," she said, when she found her resident leaning over the nurse's station. Cristina moved away to reveal Dr. Sloan sitting at the computer. Fantastic. _

"_Done, Three?" Cristina smiled. "You should go eat something. Keep your strength up."_

_She couldn't help the grimace that twisted across her face. Pressing her lips together, she waited for the nausea to recede. _

_She caught the curious look he gave her before turning back to his screen. Then she looked at her resident. "Steve's still tied up in OR 3, so…"_

_Cristina twisted a thick strand of hair out of her face. She looked at the clock and then at Dr. Sloan. _

_Lexie divided a look between them and then decided the old adage about the squeaky wheel was probably true. "Do you think maybe I could scr—"_

"_Yang, the clinic could probably use Dr. Grey's services."_

_If a bit surprised, Cristina was ready to nod her agreement. "You heard the man."_

_Lexie stood there for a moment, her mouth parted as if to say something. Then she snapped it shut, shaking her head as she turned away. Almost trembling with the injustice of it, she stamped her way to the cafeteria. _

_Out of principal rather than actual hunger, she stood in line and grabbed random items to slam onto her tray. She drummed her fingertips on the steel counter as she waited, her foot tapping out some unheard rhythm. _

_When Mark slid in line after her, she looked up and immediately gave him her back. _

"_Are you pregnant?" he asked, his voice barely audible. _

"_What?" she hissed over her shoulder. _

_Before he could reply, Izzie Stevens turned from her place in line to look at Lexie. For a terrible moment, Lexie thought the other woman had heard. Then, her brown eyes focusing on Lexie's wan face, she said, her voice knowing, "Rectal exams?"_

_Lexie nodded, her shoulders slumping in relief more than defeat. _

"_Been there. Stay away from the pudding." Paying for her food, she left, her short hair gleaming under the skylights. _

_She could practically feel the amusement radiating off his tall body behind her. Refusing to look back, she slid forward in line. He matched her steps and reached into his scrub pants. _

_Gesturing to their trays, he said over her head, "I got hers."_

_The man behind the register nodded, his fingers punching the machine. _

"_No, he doesn't." Lexie held out a ten._

"_Yes," he insisted, his arm extending further than hers. A twenty fluttered under the man's nose. "I do."_

_All but shoving him aside, she glared at the cafeteria worker, daring him to accept the twenty. The man took a step back, staring at Lexie's mutinous face and Mark's clenched jaw. Reaching out a wavering hand, he took her ten. _

_Mark expelled his breath above her and she pulled her lips in a tight smile for the worker before darting off with her unwanted salad and chips. He was right on her heels out of the cafeteria. _

"_Get away from me," she said, turning a quick corner to find the tunnels. Sure it was an intern-free zone, but, right now, with the mood she was in, the residents were the ones who'd be wise to scatter. _

"_What is the matter with you?" he said. _

_She stopped so quickly, he and his tray almost rammed into her back. Then she whirled around, her hands tightening around her tray. "You're an ass."_

_Half his mouth turned up in a smirk that was all arrogance. "And?"_

_She let out a noise of disgust. "Shouldn't you be off thinking of other ways to ban me from surgeries?"_

_His chin tipped up as if he'd just come to the bottom of something. "Ah, so that's it." He put his tray on the top of a vending machine and crossed his arms over his chest. Looking down at her, he said, "You know I can't give you special treatment, people would suspect."_

_She gaped at him, wondering how much damage the plastic knife on her tray could do. She couldn't figure out what offended her more: that he would think she'd expect special treatment or that he couldn't see he _was_ treating her differently. _

"_Seriously?" she said instead. "_Seriously_?" _

_She jammed her tray into his solar plexus and took off, stopping halfway down the hall to come tearing back. He hadn't moved and she reached into the salad to grab a fistful of wilted leaves before tossing them over his immaculate features. "Assface."_

_That night she passed by the Archfield without so much as slowing down. It was the first time in two weeks she wouldn't spend the hours between eleven and four in his hotel room. _

_She missed him. That much came apparent when she nearly turned her car around twice. Then came the inevitable questions. Was what he did really so bad? Neither of them wanted their relationship to be public knowledge, not yet anyway. So what if he was going a bit overboard? It would take sometime to get the hang of things, develop a healthy medium. _

_She frowned as she pulled into her parking spot. Was she cutting off her nose to spite her face? _

_George wasn't home when she arrived, but that wasn't surprising. He tried to spend the least amount of time possible in their apartment. In all honesty, that was fine with her. She'd liked the time she spent alone in the apartment since her home makeover. The bright colors of pilfered hospital supplies cheered the place up, expanding the walls. Of course, since the night she'd gone to the Archfield, she hadn't spent much time with the yellow bed pan cum fruit bowl or the blue bed sheets cum drapes/tablecloth/what-have-you. _

_If she left now, she could be at the hotel in ten minutes and he'd open the door, kiss her, and help her forget the wretched day filled with rectal exams and STD-ridden teenagers. _

_But, she wavered yet again, the entire day was wretched due to him. So she tore her eyes away from her car keys and decided she'd make dinner instead. Measuring some pasta out of her stolen containers and heating some water, she gnawed on a piece of cheese while figuring out how to unbolt the televisions in the hospital. _

_Halfway through her plan, which included a lookout, a monkey wrench and posing as a pregnant patient, a knock on the door disturbed the gurgling of the boiling water. _

_She opened it warily; they didn't exactly live in the best neighborhood and though the rest of the interns had come over a few times to drink, the social activities had pretty much stopped in the aftermath of the botched appy. _

_Mark stood across the doorway, six roses tucked in the curve of his arm. Extremely shiny roses, she noted, stepping to the side to let him in. _

"_So, here goes," he said. His black jacket had drops of rain clinging to the shoulders. "I'm sorry." Then he blew out his breath, the admission clearly taxing him._

"_For what?"_

"_I have absolutely no idea." He grinned then, shrugging. It was strangely disarming. "I'm somewhat new at this. But I'm sure you'll help me figure it out."_

_She remained quiet, moving away to turn off the stove. It gave him time to look around the apartment and its furnishings. _

"_Is that—?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Are those—?"_

"_Yes." She turned to face him, her hands braced against the counter behind her. She nodded toward the bundle in his arms. "Are those for me?"_

"_Do you forgive me?"_

"_I haven't decided yet."_

"_Neither have I."_

_It was difficult enough to resist him on her own. But when he played charming, it was damn near unbearable. Knowing she would just be prolonging the inevitable, she decided to save time. She turned back to the stove. _

"_I'm making pasta, do you want some?"_

_She didn't have to looking at him to know he was grinning. "I would love some." His fingers linked around her abdomen as they both watched her stir the pot._

_It was after he'd taken it upon himself to get them both acquainted with her bedroom that he finally gave her the roses. _

_She sat up in bed, taking the sheet with her in a display of modesty he found endearing. He joined her on the creaking mattress, his weight creating a sinkhole that caused her to dip toward him. _

_The stems were long, thorn-free and plastic. She fingered one of the six in her small hand, trailing up until she reached the gleaming foil of the rose. _

"_Flowers die, so…"_

_She peeled back the foil to discover a perfect chocolate rose. She laughed as she bit into it, her small teeth ruining the petal design. She offered him one, but he refused, sweeping the remaining flowers on the ground when he leaned forward to kiss her. _

_She tasted of chocolate and hope. _

_There were things they hadn't said, things she needed to tell him. But later, she decided when he reached for the sheet separating them. There would be plenty of time later. _

Later, she determined with the onus of hindsight, had never come. He'd continued to cut her from surgeries, insult her intelligence and make Yang hate her even more throughout the remainder of her internship. But he would follow up with a tweak of her ponytail or a discreetly paid-for lunch and she had kept quiet.

If she were honest, she'd own up to being slightly pathetic. Was it better to be unhappy during the day, cherished at night, and silent in between than it was to be alone?

There were ways around it that didn't involve confrontation. Yang didn't exactly love Plastics so it was relatively easy to avoid his service. Meanwhile, she did her damnedest to scrub in on Dr. Shepherd's cases, or Dr. Hunt's, or chart in a supply closet and convince herself she was not the runt of the year, no matter what Alex said. Residency, she'd chanted in that closet, residency would bring change.

She frowned on the bed, trying to concentrate before she lost the tenuous strand of something she knew she needed. It was there; elusive, but there. She told herself to think faster, to reach it before it went beyond her grasp. But the pressure alone was enough to push it over until the last vestiges were gone and she was left with an empty box and cluttered non-memories.

By the time she stepped out of the shower, her head hurt from self-flogging. Mark would be home soon and there was news to share. But how could she tell a man who'd bought her a ring that she remembered him as an overbearing ogre?

In the end, her decision to not be in the apartment at four was not purely altruistic. She wasn't just sparing his feelings by not sharing the memory; she just didn't want to see him. Afraid she'd engage in a confrontation that was so late it bordered on moot, she grabbed her purse and locked the door behind her.

After walking around in mall for four hours, picking at a salty pretzel, she stood in front of a two-story house with a swing on its porch. She lifted her purse higher on her shoulder and walked up the steps.

When Meredith answered the door, her hair curling around a Dartmouth shirt, her mouth fell open in a soft 'O'.

"Hey," she said, her hand wrapped around the doorknob. She looked past Lexie's shoulder, as if expecting someone else with her.

"Hey," Lexie said, shifting her weight. She blew out her breath. "I don't really know who I know besides Mark and I had your address…" She held up her phone before shoving it into her jacket pocket. "But, um, I _do_ know uninvited guests shouldn't come empty-handed, and in the spirit of our father being a drunk…"

Meredith watched her pull out a paper bag shaped like a bottle. "That's disturbingly inappropriate," she said.

Lexie sighed, still outside. "Listen, I didn't want to pull this card, but I nearly died." As if to drive her point home, she added, "From a baseball bat."

Meredith shook her head, waves of dirty blonde hair framing her face. "That doesn't work on me. I nearly died, too. I _did_ die."

Lexie frowned. "How?" she asked, suspicious.

"Drowned," she answered, her voice matter-of-fact.

Lexie's brow cleared. "Then unless someone else shoved you under water, I win."

They squared off for a moment before Meredith took the bottle, gesturing her sister inside.

"Hope tequila's all right," Lexie said, hanging her coat. Her hands uncoiled her scarf as Meredith pulled out the bottle.

"You have no idea," Meredith muttered, going into the kitchen. When she came back, she flopped onto the couch with a knife and limes

Lexie joined her, looking around the empty living room. "Where's Derek?"

"Hospital. He's monitoring a patient overnight."

Lexie nodded while Meredith broke the seal of the bottle with practiced ease. She poured two shots while Lexie cut the fruit into wedges.

"Where's Mark?"

"I don't know, probably at the apartment." Lexie lifted her tiny glass. "Cheers," she said, the toast devoid of merriment.

Meredith's eyebrow rose, but she remained quiet, clinking her glass to Lexie's before tapping it to the coffee table and downing it. To her credit, she waited patiently through two more shots before speaking.

"Okay," Meredith said, tossing another used lime away. "What gives? Why are you avoiding Mark?"

Lexie sighed, reaching for the bottle to refill their glasses. "I remembered something. Something I'd rather forget. And even though he's being great—amazing, really—I'm just so…so…_pissed_."

Meredith looked sympathetic for a brief moment. "Addison?"

Lexie blinked. "What?"

Meredith just handed her a lime. "Nevermind, drink up."

"So you and Derek, huh?"

That sent Meredith reaching for the bottle. She missed the first time, but managed to grab the neck on the second try. "Yup. Me and Derek."

Lexie squinted. "Can I ask you something?"

"Why not?"

"Why did you have concerns about Mark and I dating? I know he's older—"

Meredith waved a dismissive hand. "It wasn't the age thing, it was the manwhore thing."

"Manwhore thing," Lexie repeated, her nose wrinkling in an expression of distaste.

Meredith narrowed her eyes and put down her shot glass. "Exactly what _do_ you remember?" she said, her voice suspicious.

"Him being a dick to me."

Meredith nodded wisely, tapping a finger to her temple and hitting a bit too close to her eye. "That was to throw us off the scent."

"But eventually the jig was up, right? I mean we did move in together."

The other woman snorted, bringing her slim legs up onto the couch. "Are you kidding me? When you moved out, you—"

"I lived here?" She looked around the room with renewed interest.

"Well, technically you lived with George, _then_ you stayed here, but when George left—"

"Who's George?" she interrupted, her brow furrowing. "My ex-boyfriend?"

This apparently was hilarious because Meredith let out one of those airy giggles that were entirely out of character before resuming her story. "No, your roommate. But he left and then you were here, for a while anyway. When you moved in with Sloan, you said you'd found a studio for yourself."

Lexie frowned. "So I lied."

Meredith nodded. "Big time." She patted her sister's knee. "Runs in the family."

"So when exactly did we come out with our relationship?"

Meredith opened her mouth and quickly closed it. "After he proposed," she finally said, her voice careful.

Lexie read Meredith's anxiety and dismissed it. "I know about all that."

Meredith's forehead cleared. "Oh," she said. "Then you remember—"

"I found the ring."

Meredith nodded slowly, watching Lexie's expression as her brow furrowed again. "Er—Right. Well, he told Derek he was planning on proposing. And then you…"

Lexie sighed. "Didn't say yes," she supplied. Then, as if something occurred to her, she shifted to look Meredith in the eye. "Do you know why I—"

Meredith shook her head adamantly. "We're not—I'm mean—we don't…" she sawed a hand between their bodies. "We don't really do the sharing thing."

"Right," Lexie said, handing her another shot.

********

Three-fourths into the bottle they were sitting on the carpet looking at each other's bleary faces across the coffee table.

"My mother," Meredith said, examining her outstretched hands closely, "didn't know who I was and then she died." She blinked. "Do my hands look big to you?"

Lexie thought for a moment. "My mother," she offered, "died and now I don't know who she was." She toyed with a lime rind as Meredith nodded slowly, as if digesting a sage observation. "Your hands are fine. Your _feet_ are huge."

"Derek wants to build a house with me because he loves me and I can't let him." She wiggled her toes.

"I am in _Mark's_ apartment, with _Mark's_ things and I have no idea how he feels about me." There was a surprising bitterness in her voice. The words had come to her tongue naturally, but there was no reason for the wave of animosity that accompanied them.

Meredith frowned. "He loves you," she said tentatively. So tentatively, Lexie wouldn't have believed her even if she didn't already have doubts of her own.

"Right, which is why our relationship was a secret for so long. Because of all the love."

"It was a secret because of me," Meredith said. "I thought he'd just screw with you."

Lexie nodded and then stopped when she felt her brain actually rattle around. "Yes, the manwhore."

"Reformed manwhore," Meredith corrected.

"Meredith!" Lexie announced, stamping the nearly empty bottle on the coffee table to emphasize her point. "We are sisters, we are sisters who are dating McDizzy and McSleazy."

Meredith shook her head, pointing to herself. "McDreamy." She pointed at Lexie across the table. "McSteamy."

Lexie waved a negligent hand. "Whatever." She took another shot then coughed. "The point," she wheezed out, "is we have to show sodilarity. Solarid—soral—We have to stick together."

Meredith nodded slowly. "Yes," she said. "Yes. Because they come in here and 'Mc' it all up."

"They do!"

"And then we don't know our asses from our elbows."

"We don't!"

The shots they took then were thrown back violently, as if to show non-existent people that they meant business. When the front door opened, they looked up in unison.

"Lexie?" Derek asked, shaking moisture of off his coat. He closed the door behind him and looked at the heap of limes next to their shot glasses. Taking out his phone, he gave her such a disapproving look, she felt about five years old. "Mark's been making my life miserable wondering where you are."

During a short phone conversation in which Meredith hid the almost empty bottle and Lexie contemplated pretending to pass out so they wouldn't make her go back, Derek turned back to them, his phone still near his ear.

"I can drop her off," he said, looking at her small form on his carpet.

"No," she waved her hands. "I'm taking a cab."

"He says he's picking you up," Derek said, moving the mouthpiece away.

"No!" she said, this time more adamantly. "I'm taking a cab."

Derek blinked, surprised by the outburst. Giving the women his back, he murmured into the phone for a minute before hanging up.

Ten minutes later, safely ensconced into a taxi, Lexie said goodbye to her sister. "McSleazy's gonna yell at me," she said, her voice glum as she slumped.

Meredith shut the cab door. "He won't," she said. "Don't vomit."

Lexie took umbrage. "I don't vomit." Lexie leaned her head closer to the open window, the cool night air hitting her flushed cheeks. "If you do let him build you a house…"

Meredith moved in closer, her slim body swaying. "Yeah?"

"Build a sauna. Sauna's are awesome."

On the bumpy ride back to the apartment, Lexie didn't throw up. But when the driver screeched to stop in front of a red light, and the image of her stumbling drunk through a hallway slammed into her, she decided she'd prefer throwing up to reliving another memory of her life as a doormat.

So she started a monologue to God, hoping to staunch the flow of words and images that came next. Evidently, however, God was busy because by the time she came home, she remembered them anyway.

_**AN: Kind of a slow chapter, but a necessary one that built up a lot of stuff that comes later. Later as in…the next chapter. Please review!**_


	8. Chapter 7: Putting the Damage On

_**AN: Just to be clear, the first part of this chapter is a flashback (don't worry if things getting muddy—it'll clear up later). Hope you all enjoy! **_

_**PS: So excited about the synopsis for "Beat Your Heart Out"—Lexie demanding Mark own up to their relationship is just awesome, I love her newfound spirit. **_

_**Standard disclaimers apply and, despite due diligence, the inevitable mistakes are my fault. **_

Remembrance

Chapter Seven: Putting the Damage On

_Her key slid noisily into the lock and she almost shushed it before realizing that that would just be ridiculous. When she slid the door shut behind her and turned to walk into the apartment, she stopped short. Her stealth had been in vain, all the lights in the living room were on and Mark was there, his arms crossed over his chest. He still wore the gray sweater and slacks he had had on earlier at Joe's. _

"_Where the hell have you been?"_

_She let her bag drop onto a dining chair and turned away from him to enter their bedroom. She stared at the empty bed for a long moment, as if looking for something. _

"_Lexie."_

_She continued to ignore him, pulling items out of her drawers as if he weren't behind her in the doorway. Any attempt to smoothly change clothes was decimated when she stumbled on her way to the adjoining bathroom. _

_His eyes narrowed. "Are you drunk?" he asked, his voice rising._

_Her chin lifted a notch. "Maybe."_

_He walked over to stand in front of her. "Where were you?"_

"_Joe's," she said curtly, trying to move past him. _

_He anticipated her clumsy sidestep and still blocked her. "I didn't see you there."_

"_Yeah, well you were busy." Rancor was evident in each word she spoke and in the twist of her pink mouth. _

_It was so out of character, he stepped back, and she took advantage of the space to move past him. He swiveled to grab her elbow and she shook him off. The glare she gave him made him recoil. _

_He'd seen that look before on countless other women, so many that one would think he'd be used to it by now. But those looks had been a lifetime ago, reserved for a man he'd worked hard to make sure no longer existed so he'd never have to see _that_ look on _her_ face. _

_He remained silent as she dumped her clothes onto the bed and left the room without changing. Following her into the kitchen, he watched her pour a glass of water. She drank the entire glass with single-minded determination, avoiding his eyes the entire time. _

_He sighed. "Are you going to talk to me about it?"_

_She stiffened, as if the very sound of his voice was enough to rub her the wrong way._

_He pressed. "Where were you?"_

"_At a bar."_

"_Why did you leave Joe's?"_

_She slammed the empty glass on the counter and he winced at the sound, surprised it hadn't shattered. "I met a guy tonight."_

_Though his entire body felt too hot, his hands were suddenly ice. "I'm not sure what that means," he said carefully._

"_It means that you don't have to feel guilty now because we're both bad." Then she shoved her body away from the counter and left the kitchen. _

"_Meaning?" he demanded after her._

_She didn't answer, but he caught her halfway between the kitchen and living room, both his hands manacled around her wrists. He repeated the question._

_To her credit, she gave him hell, twisting her arms under his grip with enough strength to make him work hard. _

"_Meaning," she finally spat after giving up, "you're not the only one who can cheat."_

_There were images then of Lexie in a stranger's apartment, Lexie under a stranger, Lexie getting dressed by lamplight with the same distracted expression he'd perfected. His words were slow. "This guy you met. Did you sleep with him?"_

_Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not going to compare sins with you." She tried to spin away from him. _

"_Damn it, Lexie!" He shouted then, wanting to shake the truth out of her. He was in real position to judge; he'd been born a cheater. Hate was powerful; forgiveness more so. They could salvage this—they could, he just needed to know what he was up against. Sex. Lust. Affection. Love. _

"_You want details?" she shouted back. "He kissed me, all right? He kissed me and I let him."_

_He let her go then, his hand dropping from her so fast his wrist snapped. For some crazy reason, crazy because he'd been prepared for torrid sex and she'd only said 'kiss', her words cut. Until then, he hadn't realized how much he'd been hoping she'd been lying about the guy in the bar. How much he'd been wishing that the truth entailed her and Sadie drinking across the street. _

"_You don't get to do that," she sneered. "You don't get to look wounded and lost."_

_He couldn't look at her, he realized. He couldn't look at that beautiful face with its perfect skin without looking at her eyes, her huge eyes filled with so much loathing it made his head spin. _

_Turning away, he pulled a hand down his face. "Why?" he asked the mantle, where pictures of them happy mocked him. _

"_Oh, come off it," she said, suddenly tired. "A blind man could have seen you two flirting today." _

_He frowned, turning around. "Addison?"_

_She closed her eyes for a long moment, her body swaying. There it was, engrained on the back of her eyelids: an image of Addison leaning into a seated Mark. Perfect Addison with burgundy hair and fabulous accessories and legs that started at her ears. And Mark, gazing back at her as if the Holy Grail was in front of him. _

_When Lexie's eyes opened, she found her anger again. "I'm surprised she's not still here. But then again…" she paused, pretending to think, "The Archfield's more your MO, isn't it?"_

"_Lexie—" he started. _

"_Save it," she snapped. "Once a cheater, always a cheater, right? That's what you do, Mark, you take things and you ruin them."_

_That one hurt, but even he had to admit, karmically speaking, he deserved some woman somewhere along the line screaming that at him._

"_Lexie," he tried again, "I give you my word nothing happened between me and Addison."_

"_You word?" she echoed with contempt. "You'll forgive me if that doesn't carry much weight with me? Considering you and I started out by you breaking your word to Derek."_

_She could have killed his dog and elicited such a stricken expression. Reeling back, he sat on the edge of the sofa and rested his elbows on his knees, his hands cradling his forehead. _

"_I would think," she continued, "that you'd have the _decency_ to be a bit more discreet. In the middle of Joe's? Really?"_

_He tried to count to five, he tried to focus on his breathing. She deserved patience, he told himself. She'd been through a lot lately._

"_You _finally_ tell people about us—and three months later you're mortifying me in public?"_

_But damn her, so had he! He stood up then, the movement sudden. Surprised, she cut herself off, staring up at him. _

"_We were talking!" he gritted out. "Just talking. It was nice to _talk_, it was nice to look at someone who _smiles_."_

_Her eyes narrowed and she took a step back. "And at home all you have is poor, depressed Lexie, right? Well, I'm sorry I'm not a barrel of laughs, Mark, I'm sorry I don't feel like having sex all the time, I'm sorry _I'm_ grieving—"_

"_I'm grieving, too!" he yelled. _

"_Could have fooled me!" she yelled back, moving across the living room to stand near the mantle. Her eyes fell on a picture of them and her arm shot out before she had time to think. Her palm met the cool frame and slapped it down to the floor. _

_The sound of cracking glass filled the silence between them. _

_He understood; he wanted to lash out at something, too. Instead he clenched his fists at his side and watched her back as she tried to control her breathing. _

"_Just because I don't walk around like a martyr doesn't mean I'm not sorry, too."_

_She whirled around. "I don't think I'm a martyr," she whispered. _

"_Maybe if you weren't so goddamn selfish you'd realize that there's someone else in this apartment."_

_Her face lost even more of its color and she lifted a hand to cover her mouth. Swallowing, she found her voice. "Your apartment. Your apartment, your furniture, your life—I'm just lucky you let me be a part of it, right?"_

_He shook his head. "What are talking about?"_

"_Nothing," she muttered. Backing down came like second nature these days. Her head felt muzzy. "Nevermind."_

_They were quiet for a long moment, him on one side of the living room and her on the other. It was easy enough to avoid looking at each other, there were plenty of other things in the living room. Neither of them tried to cross the invisible line that bisected the room. _

_His voice was low and hard. "Since the day there was you, there's only been you."_

_Maybe she wanted to believe him or maybe she needed to, either way, believe him she did. Her face twisted in an expression of pain. "I thought—" _

_He sighed, sitting back on the couch. "I know what you thought."_

"_I saw—"_

"_Yeah," he said wearily. "I can imagine."_

"_Mark—"_

"_Go to bed, Lexie."_

_She moved closer to him. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I don't know why I'm so angry." She wasn't just talking about right now, or tonight, and they both knew it. It seemed she was always angry lately. Maybe if it had been recent development, he could attribute it to…_

_Mark gave himself a mental shake before his mind could voice a subject they'd made taboo. The point, he thought grimly, was that it _wasn't_ a recent development. _

_At least before he had been able to reach her in their bed. No matter how icy her posture was, he could reach for her and she'd meet him halfway willingly, her body pliant and warm. Maybe it didn't dissolve her anger, but he could still make her say his name as she dug all ten fingers into his skin. _

_And then he'd noticed the film of some underlying emotion beneath the physical satiation in her eyes. Afterward, when he tucked her body against his side, he'd noticed it hardening her eyes. He didn't dare call it resentment and he didn't dare analyze it. But eventually the distance between them turned into a mile and he'd stopped reaching. _

_Her anger was tangible as it widened the chasm between them. It was the reason that while they had once showered together in order to guarantee they'd run late, they now showered together to rush through their morning routine, their bodies reaching around each other for soap and shampoo, avoiding skin and eye contact. _

_Now he looked up to see her standing in front of him. She was always so small. Addison and Callie were striking women, naturally tall, made taller by the confidence they exuded. But Lexie…Lexie's strength came out in spurts, when she was pushed, tested. Her strength was almost invisible. _

_So to see there, her slender brows knitted as she pressed her lips together in an endeavor not to cry, evoked the urge to comfort. Her eyes were huge and dark, the inner corners turning toward her nose and exaggerating their doe shape. _

_Pulling her down next to him, he let her head fall into his lap. He stroked her hair away from her temple with an idle hand, his eyes straight ahead. _

"_Try not to think about it," he said. "Just go to sleep."_

*******

A cab, he calculated, would take about fifteen minutes from Meredith Grey's house to their apartment at this time of night. So why then, had it been thirty minutes since Derek called?

Mark turned away from the clock in the living room to stare at the flickering images on the muted television. Turning the entire set off, he tossed down the remote and resumed his pacing.

When he'd come home at three-thirty—early, he recounted now, with a self-deprecating smile, because he just couldn't _wait_ to see her—he'd first searched the apartment for a note. Lexie always left notes, sometimes for no reason at all. After the refrigerator, nightstand and bathroom mirrors had come up empty, he'd examined the guest bedroom and living room to no avail.

The image of an amnesiac Lexie Caroline Grey roaming streets with no idea where she was made his gut drop and his jaw clench. He couldn't figure out if she was more beautiful than stupid or vice versa.

When the sound of a key in the lock reached his ears, he was ready for her. Standing in the middle of the living room, his arms crossed and feet apart in a stance that could only be seen as combative, he waited.

"Where the hell have you been?"

She blinked at him, looking behind her and then at him as if trying to assess where exactly she was.

"Meredith's house," she answered slowly, as if he were challenged.

He frowned. Perhaps it was a stupid question, he had, after all, just spoken to Derek. "I meant all day."

She shrugged, setting her bag down on a chair. "Around."

"Care to be more specific?"

"Not really."

His voice grew impatient. "You can't just run away without bothering to tell me where you are."

Her face grew solemn as she straightened. One hand flew up to salute him. "Yessir," she said loudly. "Of course, Sir. Won't happen again, Sir." Then she dissolved into giggles, her posture relaxing.

He stared at her, his brows furrowing into a vee. "Are you drunk?" Derek hadn't mentioned the drinking.

Lexie waved her hands around. "Wait, don't tell me, I remember." She tapped her finger to her chin. "This is where I say: 'Maayyybee'." She sang the last word, giving him the bleary smile of someone who doesn't quite see what one is smiling at.

He frowned. "What are—"

She cut him off, coming closer to look up at him. "Would you consider yourself a faithful man, Mark?"

He swallowed, his eyes flicking from her face to stare above her head. When he spoke, his eyes returned to her. "No," he answered. "But I am to you."

"Huh," was her only answer. For all the alcohol she imbibed, her eyes sharpened. "Was _I_ faithful?"

His jaw clenched. It took a moment, but he bit out, "Yes."

"Really?" The word came out in one long, disbelieving drawl that irked him.

"You never slept with another man."

"Is that how we're defining cheating?" she goaded, "Sex?"

"Damn you, Lexie!" he shouted. He blew out his breath and turned away from her. When he spoke again, his voice was lower and tired. "You clearly remember something so why not just be out with it?"

"I kissed another guy," she said, her eyes closing. When the world swayed, she snapped them open again to find that the world wasn't the only thing moving, so was her body. She tried to plant her feet on the ground because this was something she wanted to hear, needed to hear.

"Yes," he said, the words struggled out of him. "But it was a mistake. It didn't matter and we moved past it."

"I wouldn't have kissed another man if we were happy, Mark."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "It was a misunderstanding."

"What did I misunderstand?"

Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared back at her. "You tell me."

"I thought you cheated first."

He didn't nod, but he didn't deny it either.

"With Addison," she added. The name came naturally and she thought of Meredith's face earlier that night. "Who's Addison?"

He blew out his breath. "Doesn't matter," he said, trying to move past her into the spare bedroom.

She blocked his path with her body. "It matters to me."

"We can talk about this later. Go to bed." Putting his hands on her shoulders, he all but picked her up and out of his way.

Lexie sidestepped back in front of him. "No, we can talk about it now."

He sighed and then said, "Derek's ex-wife."

Her eyes widened. "Then what—"

He had the urge to get this part over with, to get to the part where she knew all about him, knew his sins and didn't care. But, then again, there was a reason he hadn't told her from the get-go. Maybe this Lexie, this woman with the familiar face but guarded eyes, wouldn't be as forgiving as the Lexie he'd lost. "We had an affair," he said, his words curt.

"You…and Addison," she said slowly.

His head jerked once in a nod. "A long time ago."

"So—at the bar—when I saw—you didn't…?"

"No."

"Did you want to?"

That one surprised him and he faltered for a moment. She saw the hesitation immediately and took a step back from him.

"Oh," she said, nodding.

"Don't." He couldn't keep the irritation out of his voice. "Don't pretend you know what I—"

"How long were you going to keep lying to me?"

His brow furrowed. "I haven't—"

"Yes! You have! Every time you've looked at me and spouted off bullshit about how happy we were and how we love each other, you've been lying to me." She rubbed her forehead. "Because we weren't. We weren't happy. Happy people don't cheat and they don't _want_ to cheat and they don't lie to each other."

"All couples have problems," Mark said.

"Yeah, well, not all couples rekindle affairs with their ex-mistresses or start new ones with strangers in bars."

"I didn't rekindle anything and you didn't have an affair." He paused, his eyes narrowing. He stalked closer and grabbed her shoulders once again, this time with the purpose of keeping her in place. "Did you?"

"What?" She tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but his fingers tightened. "No."

"Did you remember something else?" he persisted. "Like going home with the guy in the bar?"

"Are you crazy? No."

"'No' you don't remember or 'no' you didn't?"

She glared up at him. "I didn't go home with him," she said, enunciating in a way that was all condescension.

"You sure? You have a history of taking off all your clothes in front of virtual strangers."

She gaped at him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you coming to my hotel room and stripping!"

She wasn't equipped to fight back when he was referencing things she didn't recall. It was dirty of him, so she decided to get just as dirty. "This coming from a manwhore."

The name-calling angered him. They were standing so close she could see the tick in his jaw. He took a step closer, causing her head to fall back to maintain eye contact.

"At least I don't get off from withholding sex."

A noise of choked offense left her throat. "I do no such thing."

He snorted and the derision in the action nearly swallowed her. "Then why can't I remember the last time I got laid?"

She nearly slapped the smug look off of his handsome face. "Yeah, well I can't remember _ever_ getting laid so maybe we're even!"

Later, it would be easy to place the blame on him, to tell herself that he started it and she became a cajoled participant. But, if she were completely honest with herself, she'd acknowledge that she was the first one to reach out.

Either way, in the same moment her hands grabbed his shirt collar, he palmed her bottom, bringing her high and hard up against him. Her mouth found his in an expression of starvation that had him stumbling back against the wall.

As they tripped along the hallway, her back bumping a picture frame on the way to their bedroom, he pulled away to look up at her. "I don't think—"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "Don't."

"You're drunk," he said. It was a flimsy excuse, one he took some time in creating as his eyes searched hers.

Mouth dry, she licked her lips. If he put her down and sent her to bed alone, she'd die from the mortification of it all. At the thought of such rejection, her legs tightened around his hips. He groaned under the pressure and let out a curse before kissing her again.

He was going to hell anyway, what was one more sin under his belt?

_**AN: Please review! **_


	9. Chapter 8: Look Me Over

_**AN: A lot of this chapter is taken from "Crash Into Me" from Season 4. Enjoy! I know it's a bit shorter than usual, but I really wanted to get something posted. =) **_

_**Standard disclaimers apply and, despite due diligence, the inevitable mistakes are my fault. **_

Remembrance

Chapter Eight: Look Me Over

_Please_, Lexie prayed as his knees sank into the mattress and her back crushed the pillows, _please let this be good for me. Let it be good for him. _

When he pulled back to begin removing his shirt, she pushed herself up until she was also on her knees. Stilling his hands with her own, she looked up at him. He met her eyes, their joined hands over the dark blue cloth of his shirt. Holding his gaze, she began working the column of buttons. The small discs slid easily out of the worn fabric and it wasn't long until the shirt hung in two separate strips.

Her gaze wandered from the hard planes of his face down to the tanned column of his throat and, finally, to the wide expanse of his chest. She inhaled, bringing her palms flush against his heated skin near his clavicle.

He was patient while she moved her hands up and under his shirt, slipping it from his shoulders. When it fell to the comforter behind him, he raised his free arms to play with the ends of her hair.

It had been a while since he'd touched her hair, he realized, letting the strands sift through his fingers. The light behind her caught its color and he saw burgundy, deep and illuminated, against his skin.

Mindful of her tender scalp, he brushed her hair back before tilting her face up. His kiss began even before his lips reached hers, their sighs stirring the minimal space between their mouths for a full, pregnant moment.

He moved forward, stretching out above her so she had no choice but to extend her limbs as she rested back. Looking at her was enough for a while; there was such expectant wonder in her eyes, it humbled him.

She lifted a tentative hand to his cheek and he turned to plant an open-mouthed kiss on her palm, the tip of his tongue brushing the sensitized skin. Her breath hissed out and her hand jerked, as if to move away.

One hand snaked around her wrist to keep it in place as he kissed her palm once more. With his other hand, he cupped her cheek, mirroring her action. After waiting a beat, she kissed the skin right below his thumb. He swallowed, his fingers moving across the curve of her cheekbone to her temple. A scar, pink and puckered, was busy healing and his index finger traced its progress.

She wriggled away, angling her face away from him. "I hate it," she said quietly, looking at the vee at the base of his throat. "It reminds me I almost died."

He remained silent. Then, with a hand that wasn't unkind, he grasped her chin and turned her head, exposing both sides of her face evenly. "It reminds me you lived." He kissed her scar.

While one arm curved under her, bringing their bodies closer, its twin wedged between them, working the buttons of her fitted shirt. Within seconds, her top was divided in half. She looked down at his quick work and laughed soundlessly. "You're better at that than me."

He smiled gently. "I've had a lot of practice."

A cloud passed over her face and he knew exactly what she was thinking. "I meant with you."

She tried to smile. "I know." She raised her head to kiss him, her fingertips smoothing over the lines covering his brow.

He pulled her shirt away from her back with the care one reserved for newborns. It was then she realized the furious, clumsy, desperate clutches in their hallway had been replaced by an almost reverent tone.

"I won't break, you know," she said finally.

He swallowed hard. "I know," he agreed. "But it's your first time. Kind of." The look he gave her was almost sheepish and her chest suddenly felt so full, she was afraid she would cry. But she was too giddy to cry. Instead she hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him down to her.

By the time their jeans had been discarded, she'd lost track of the number of his kisses, but it hardly mattered because she was addicted. Her arms looped around his neck, his back, her palms eager for every inch of smooth skin they contacted.

Her hands were on their way to the band of his underwear when five memories, each so vivid and so simultaneous that they were transposed on top of each other, slammed into her with the force of a locomotive.

Her absence was noticed immediately and Mark pulled away from her enough to look at her.

"What?" he asked, worry etched into his frown.

"Billy Cooper," she said, a smile of amazement tilting the corners of her mouth.

He pointed to himself, his frown deepening. "Mark," he said.

"No," she said, slapping his chest with both hands and rolling on top of him. Her knees sank down on either side of his hips and she grinned down at him. "_Billy Cooper._ He was my first. On the beanbag in his parent's den. It lasted about thirty seconds."

He stared at up her flushed cheeks. Eyes dancing with her recent victory, he decided no one but Lexie could pull off innocence in such a compromising position. But her excitement was contagious so he found himself asking, "What else?" from under her, his hands circling her ankles.

"I dug up my Mom's cat," she said, her brow furrowing. Her skin was pure cream, so fair it bordered on translucent. But there was definite health there. Pink vibrancy flooded her cheeks and lips in a manner that never failed to make him want strawberries.

Strawberries. It was enough to make him mock himself. He didn't even like strawberries.

His hands traveled up her warm calves to the slim thighs cradling his waist.

"Alex has two balls!" she crowed.

His hands stopped.

"What?"

But she'd already moved on. Her eyes widened. "I broke your penis," she exclaimed, lifting her weight off of him as if she'd injured him only a moment ago.

He winced. "We agreed it was a mutual mistake." White teeth flashed as he grinned. "It works fine now," he promised, his hands resuming their journey up her thighs to keep her in place.

Lexie ignored him because by then it wasn't Mark's face in front of her anymore. Instead, she saw the same image she had seen the day Mark brought her home. Boyish, verging on just this side of small, she saw his face laughing up at her.

And then she saw the arms of her lab coat covered in his blood, her neck dripping with his life. She saw her small hands press against his crimson neck as Mark came to dole out promises, giving her a verbal pat on the back as he walked out.

_I'm in love with you now,_ he'd said from the gurney. And she had smiled back because Dr. Sloan had promised it was going to be okay so maybe it was all right to smile.

But it hadn't been, because she next thing she knew, her fresh gloves were slippery under more of his blood and she was gliding along the gurney, her lips pressed together as she tried not to cry.

And then there had been Mark's incredulous eyes, the lower half of his face covered with a mask, as he stared out of his OR into her wet, ashen face.

_Please, please, please_, she'd chanted later in that procedure room, as unprepared for his death as they had all been to ensure his life.

"Lexie," Mark called, giving her leg a gentle squeeze.

She jerked her head, staring into a headboard before lowering her eyes to Mark's. "Yeah," she said. "Sorry."

He frowned. "What is it?"

"Nick Hanscom."

"Who?"

She lifted a hand, thumb and index finger out, to gesture to her neck. "Carotid," she said.

He nodded. The night that artery had burst twice he'd gotten good and drunk. Far too drunk. One drink over a lost life was acceptable, necessary even. But at thirty-six years of age, five double Scotches over a kid and his own failure was borderline pathetic.

"We killed him." Her back slumped and her hands fell against her sides. He sat up, enveloping her a hug, his hands rubbing over the material of her bra.

"We did everything we could," he said.

He felt her shake her head against his neck. "Not enough," she said, her voice muffled. "Not nearly enough."

Rubbing circles against her skin, he remained quiet. She pulled back to look at him, her eyes bright. "Do you know how much blood he lost while we shuffled him around waiting for an OR?" There was a faint hint of accusation in her voice.

"Yes."

As far as answers went, his took the fight out of her. She seemed to sink into herself as her posture deteriorated. "I was angry with you," she admitted.

"I was angry with me, too."

When she met his clear eyes, she shook her loose hair back as if to clear her thoughts. "How long ago?"

"Nick?" She nodded. "Two, maybe three years."

" A long time."

"Yes," he agreed.

"Before we…" she trailed off, looking down to his chest.

"Yes, before."

She looped her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek against his neck again in a gesture that sought comfort. The heat from his skin radiated into hers and she moved closer to him, inhaling his scent. He smelled of lemon and soap and skin.

"What changed?" she asked. "When did we look at each other differently?"

"You were a nice kid," he said. She could feel in the laugh in his voice. "And then, one day, I looked and you weren't such a kid."

She took issue with his use of the word 'kid'. It rubbed her the wrong way, but she let it slide in favor of another question.

"And what did I think of you?"

His smile turned wolfish. "I believe your exact words were: 'insanely hot'."

She slapped his shoulder and glared at him. "More like unbelievably narcissistic."

They were quiet for a moment and suddenly Lexie was aware again of their mutual lack of clothes. Most of her skin was flush against his and her smile slowly died as she waited.

Above him, she shifted experimentally, and the slight movement didn't go unnoticed. Yet, he waited as well, unimaginably patient as he just watched her.

Then, giving her a break, he spoke first. "So Billy Cooper."

She beamed at him, grateful for light humor he inserted behind the change in topic. "Billy Cooper," she repeated, nodding once.

"Thirty seconds, huh?" He narrowed his eyes, not waiting for her to answer. In one swift movement, he had her pinned beneath him. "I think we can beat that."

_**AN: Please review! **_


	10. Chapter 9: Blank Slates

_**AN: Shout outs to awesome Cadaverous Apples and IGottaFindYou and lizzie-tish, whose careful reading and thoughtful feedback makes me smile consistently. =) Thank you, guys!**_

_**Standard disclaimers apply and, despite due diligence, the inevitable mistakes are my fault. **_

Remembrance

Chapter Nine: Blank Slates

It took a good, long minute for her to realize the importance of oxygen. Finding her way back to the pillowcase, she rested on her stomach, her face turned to look at him. They focused on breathing for a while longer, laughing when they caught each other's eye, but still unable to vocalize anything coherent.

Then, swallowing her dry throat, she managed to get out, "Do people know about this?"

He laughed, reaching over to trace the curve of her back, his fingers picking up the thin film of sweat lining her bare skin. "About sex? Yeah, I think word's out."

"No, not just sex. _Sex_."

He grinned, letting the bedsheet settle around their hips. "So I take it it was good for you?"

"So good we should name it."

The crack of laughter that left his chest was so sudden, she was startled for a moment before joining him.

"We could name it Billy Cooper," he offered, chuckling up to the ceiling.

The suggestion was so ridiculous, her body shook with laughter. When she lifted her head to breathe, a snort escaped her. His head whipped toward her at the sound. They both froze for a moment before she buried her head into the pillow and he began laughing all over again.

"What was _that_?"

"Shut up," she said from the pillowcase, reaching out a blind hand to slap him.

"Okay, Wilbur."

"I hate you," she groaned, but glowering was impossible. He caught her combative hands easily and pulled her closer.

"If I kiss you, will you do it again?"

She shoved him, but he kissed her anyway. Her legs found his and twined against them, her feet stopping somewhere around his calves.

"You're little," he said.

"Am I?" she asked, her voice drowsy as she rubbed her nose against his chest.

"Yes," he affirmed. "Like a piglet."

She stopped nuzzling and pulled back to look at him. "Shut up."

Wrapping his arms around her, he drew her closer, his torso rumbling with his laughter. When the sounds died down, she breathed him in and said, "It feels good to laugh."

He nodded above her and she felt the movement against her hair. "I know."

"I was kind of afraid before," she said, her voice small.

His arms tightened. "Of what?"

"Afraid of being someone different, someone you didn't even like, but still felt obligated to."

He sighed. "You can't keep stressing yourself out about remembering."

"I know, you're right." She bit her lip. "But…"

"It's frustrating," he supplied.

"Yes."

"Because you want to remember."

"Because I want you to have your girlfriend back."

His arms slid away from her and she blinked up at him in confusion. Cheek against his pillow, he met her eyes. "I have her," he said.

"You know what I mean," she argued, her voice weary. "It isn't the same."

"You're right," he said. "But different isn't bad." Her brow furrowed and he continued. "You remember the fight we had? After Addison?" She nodded and he did as well, the line of his mouth grim. "Then you know that we didn't always communicate very well." Again she nodded. "So this time around we communicate. We'll figure it out."

"Figure it out," she echoed.

"Together."

She still looked doubtful and he exhaled. "Lexie," he said carefully. "I don't care if you ever remember."

That got her attention. Her brown eyes snapped to his, so wide they seemed to swallow her face. He muffled a groan. Those eyes nearly killed him. There wasn't a sucker born every minute, there was just him around Lexie and her damn eyes.

"You don't?" she asked. She sucked in a shaky breath.

"No. You're still here and _that's_ what I'm grateful for. So you don't remember." His shoulders lifted in an eloquent shrug. "So what? Shit happens. I'll try not to remember too and we can go from there."

She smiled. "You're sweet to say that—to try, but—"

"But nothing," he interrupted. "We can't do anything about the past anyway, Lexie. It's done." Here his face turned insistent, fierce even. "So leave it alone."

Fine brows arching, she looked confused. "But—"

"No," he repeated, leaning forward to give her a hard kiss. "No more talking." His fingers gripped the thin material of the sheet between them and pulled it away, bringing their bodies closer. He sat up, bringing her with him.

His lips found her throat and she knew there had been something else she meant to ask, but it lost all relevance when his tongue met her skin.

"This is it," he whispered against her temple sometime later when she moved above him, his warm hands gripping her hips to steady her tempo. "Just you, me and a chance at something special."

_Something special_, she repeated to herself, savoring the words. There was a magical quality to them, they spoke of promise and made the unknown suddenly surmountable.

So she remained quiet, her acquiescence in her kiss before she cradled his head to her neck, her head tilting to the side and spilling a curtain of dark hair over both of them.

******

"Have I ever met your parents?" she asked much later, when the first rays of dawn tried to filter through through the blinds of the bay windows.

His hands stilled over her hair for a moment before resuming their long, easy strokes. "Not yet."

"Why not?" The question was blunt, but there was a trace of uncertainty behind it.

He was quick to reassure her. "They're busy," he said. "We're not especially close."

"But they know about me?"

He smiled. "Yes."

"I'm sorry," she said then.

"For what?"

"You said you're not close to your parents."

"Oh." He pressed an idle kiss to her temple. In moments like this, when Lexie was Lexie, it was easy to forget she didn't know all she had known before. She'd have to rediscover it, which, he realized, was fine with him. Preferable even.

Every time Lexie looked at him, it was with a tentative apology for not yet remembering. While she was regretful, he was grateful. While she looked at him hoping to remember, he was wary one day she would.

At that thought, his fingers stilled over the cloud of her hair and he kissed her soundly, as if to reassure him she was still there.

"It's not a big deal."

"Have I said that before?"

"About my parents?" he asked. When she nodded, he confirmed.

She sighed. "It must be annoying, having conversations with me you've already had."

He disagreed, shaking his head. "No. It's like a do-over."

They were quiet for a moment while she digested that. "Mark?" she asked in the dimness of the room.

He muffled a yawn. "Hmm?"

"Has my father called at all? About me, I mean?"

The timid quality in her voice made him alert. He wished he could lie to her so he could see her shoulders straighten with the knowledge of her own worth.

"No," he said quietly.

"Oh." She nodded. "I—I have a sister, right? I mean besides Meredith?"

"Molly. I called her after your accident. She knows you're fine; she said she'd try to arrange a visit later."

"Oh, that's nice of her."

It wasn't especially so and they both knew it, but instead he said, "Your niece, Laura, she's a handful; it's hard for Molly to get away. But she loves you."

Lexie nodded against him. "Yes. Of course." She paused. "So you've met her."

He murmured his affirmation.

"Is she nice?"

"Sure."

"Does…does she like me?"

The hesitance in her voice caused him to open his eyes. "Is that what's worrying you?"

"No. Well, yes. It's just that…" She exhaled before continuing. "Well, my mother's dead, my father's out of the picture and one of my sisters is too far away while the other is always reminding me we're not close."

"Meredith," he began, "is…difficult." She couldn't help but smile at his twisted features as he searched for an appropriate word. "She cares but doesn't want people—especially herself—knowing she cares."

She was quiet and he added, "Besides, Derek told me you two seemed fine tonight."

She groaned at the reminder of her diatribe on Meredith's living room floor. "I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm an idiot now."

Mark laughed. "You and Meredith will get there. Give it time."

Lexie didn't want to talk about it anymore. She shrugged. "It's fine, I should shut up anyway. You're not close to your family either."

"I didn't say that."

Her brow furrowed. "But you—"

"I'm close to you," he said, kissing her nose. "And you're my family."

Perhaps she should have smiled at his words, at the poignancy in their simplicity. Instead she found herself entirely serious. "Does that mean you're my family?"

"I was," he said. "I could be again. If you'll let me."

While they spoke, the rising sun broke through the gray of the room, bathing them and their bed in yellow heat. Warm and content, it was far too easy to close her eyes, secure in the fact that she wouldn't be alone when she opened them.

"It must have been so easy to fall in love with you," she said around a long sigh, her breathing evening as she slept.

_**AN: Please review! **_


	11. Chapter 10: Feels Like Home

_**AN: Special thanks to hopelessromantic0707, who has kindly offered to be my Beta reader. =)**_

_**Standard disclaimers apply and, despite due diligence, the inevitable mistakes are my fault. **_

Remembrance

Chapter Ten: Feels Like Home

When she woke next it was almost noon and Mark was still next to her, his breath steady as it fanned across the back of her neck. She stayed still for a few minutes, tracing the tendons across his hand while she savored the lazy respite.

Then she slid away from him, her left side immediately cool as she lost his heat. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she reached for his discarded shirt and slid it over her bare arms. It was the most natural thing in the world to bring the excess cloth covering her fingers to her face and inhale.

His scent, clean and evocative without being overwhelming, filled her nostrils. She sniffed the material again and had an image of Mark fiddling with a pan in their kitchen. She blinked, unwilling to lose the memory. The picture provoked a feeling low in her stomach that was nothing like the nausea the previous memories had induced.

Holding onto it, onto the warmth spreading in her abdomen as it fluttered, she concentrated.

"_You can't cook," she said, padding into the kitchen on bare feet. She peered over him to look at the stove, but his body blocked her view and she gave up. _

"_Good morning to you, too." He kissed the top of her head before looking back at the pan. "I can so cook. A little birdie taught me."_

"_She must be a patient woman," Lexie mused, levering herself up on the counter opposite the stove. She swung her naked legs out in front of her, bringing her toes together. The polish glinted under the kitchen lights. _

_He let out an ungentlemanly guffaw. "I don't know about patient. But she's got one hell of an ass."_

_She extended one leg to boot him in the rear. He shot one arm out behind him without looking up from the stove and grabbed her ankle. _

_She tried to wriggle it free but he held fast until he was done. Only when he'd finished did he turn around to face her, his fingers still manacled around her foot. _

_Following her leg up to stand in front of her, he grinned. She was wearing the shirt he'd had on last night, the white material closed by only three buttons. The sleeves were so long on her it bordered on ridiculous and she'd rolled them up to her elbows. _

_He released her leg and maneuvered his way between her knees. _

"_What'd you make me?" she asked, leaning back on her arms. The movement stretched the material of his shirt and the tenuous buttons. He watched with undisguised interest at the exposed vee of her upper chest. _

"_You?" he repeated. "What makes you think it's for you?"_

_Her eyes narrowed. "Fine. I'd like to avoid salmonellas anyway."_

"_Brat," he said, giving her inner thigh a quick pinch. _

"_Ouch."_

_She slouched and caught a glimpse of the pan from under his arm. "Pancakes," she declared triumphantly. "Ambitious."_

_Her seat on the counter boosted her height and they were eye-level as she spoke. "Are they chocolate chip?"_

_He grimaced. "I'd like to still have my teeth when I'm eighty."_

_The grin she gave him was impish. "Aw, you're already thinking about your next birthday?"_

_Scowling, he reached for her bare thigh again. She squirmed away, dodging the pinch. He changed tactics and grabbed her calves with both hands, pulling her to the edge of the counter as he stood between her legs. _

_Her laughter caught as she collided into his chest, their noses almost brushing. _

"_I'm entirely too old for you," he said. _

_She only nodded, staring at his mouth. _

"_You're entirely too young for me," he continued._

_She agreed, her eyes steady on his lips. Weaving her lean limbs around his waist, she brought their lower bodies flush against each other. _

_The sudden contact knocked him into silence. Inhaling sharply, he angled into the counter and her, his arms finding her waist under the folds of his shirt. _

"_We could just stop," she suggested, avoiding his mouth by arching back. _

"_Not on your life."_

"_We may have to," she said, unhooking her ankles from around his hips. She checked the time on the stove in front of her. "I have to go home and change before work."_

"_You have some clothes here," he said, refusing to let her off the counter. All ten of his fingers dug into the soft skin below her hips. _

"_I do?" _

_He nodded. "Greta washed them last week. They're in my drawer."_

"_Oh. Sorry. I didn't know I'd left them here."_

"_Don't be sorry." He occupied himself by playing with the band of her underwear covered by his shirt. "Just don't go home now." He pulled back long enough to look at her. "Or ever."_

_She laughed. "What does that mean?"_

"_It means move your stuff from there to here." He tugged at the material near her neck for better access. The large collar slipped off her shoulder. _

_Her laughter died as she looked at him. "Did you just—are we…?"_

"_Move in with me."_

_She angled her head to the side, her loose hair spilling over her bare shoulder. "Are you sure?" _

_He shrugged. "Yeah, why not? O'Malley's leaving soon and Meredith's attic is hardly ideal."_

"_Okaaay," she drew out the word, her hesitation apparent. _

"_What?" he asked._

"_We're living together? Just like that?"_

"_Why not?" he repeated._

_She hesitated, "It's just…it seems too easy."_

_He smiled, the grooves near his mouth deepening. "I suppose we could make it melodramatic." He looked around the kitchen. "Should we fight and throw things before having some make-up sex?"_

_She shook her head, wrapping her arms around his neck to bring him back to her. Her thighs tightened around his hips._

"_Good," he said, kissing her. "Then it's settled." He scooped her off the counter, his arms on her back to keep her against him._

"_Your pancakes," she protested as he left the kitchen with her. "They'll burn."_

"_Let them," he said airily. "They taste like crap anyway."_

She smiled as she pressed his shirt against her cheek. Four buttons had slid home when he stirred, his arm reaching out to meet rumpled sheets. When he turned his head to look at her, she was already staring at him.

The recent memory still fresh in her mind, she had a picture of him in the kitchen, trading jokes with her in an expression of affection and familiarity. And it was the same man in front of her, she realized, her spine tingling with the thought.

This man knew her. He knew she was allergic to eggs, he knew what parts of her were sensitive; he knew what made her laugh.

Her gaze must have been too intent because his eyes sharpened over her face. "What happened?" he asked.

His question only further proved her point. With one leg bent under her, she turned to face him. Her other leg was still over the edge of the bed, her toes grazing the floor.

"I just remembered something," she said softly, keeping his eyes. They were a vivid blue in the daylight, too bright to look away.

His upper body stiffened as he stopped halfway through a stretch. He waited and then relaxed. His voice was casual when he spoke, looking away to sit up properly. "Not Nick again, I hope."

She smiled. "No, something good."

He looked at her again. "Yeah?"

"Something very, very good." She hugged her arms around her midsection, the extra cloth of his shirt bunching around her.

"Dare I hope I'm involved?" he drawled.

"You may hope." She leaned in, kissing his forehead. "You'd be right."

He kept her to him when she moved to sit upright again. "That's my shirt."

"It looks better on me."

"Agreed." He paused, his eyes dropping down to where the first button started, halfway down her chest. It'd look better off."

She wriggled out of his grasp. "I need food," she said, her brows knitting in an expression of mock reprimand.

"Orange juice and French toast would be great. Thanks," he said, rolling over with the comforter as if to fall back asleep.

Her eyes widened. "Chauvinist," she muttered, leaving the bedroom.

On her way to the kitchen, she took a detour to the mantle above the fireplace. She overlooked the pictures of her as a teenager, going straight for the two of them. The details of that night still weren't hers, but Mark's face didn't belong to a stranger anymore.

The smile playing across her lips wouldn't have budged with botox. After the memory of them in the kitchen, it didn't seem so strange to stare at her playfully biting her boyfriend—would-be fiancé, even. It seemed…organic.

When she reached the empty space on the mantle, she felt the same absence she had her first day in the apartment. Only now, there was another piece in place. She knew she'd been the one to knock it down the night she'd confronted Mark about Addison. The knowledge of such a childish action filled her with only a modicum of shame, but more onerous than that was the habitual feeling of frustration. Even with that memory, she still didn't know what had been in the frame before she'd destroyed it in a moment of fury.

"French toast, woman!" Mark's voice called out from the bedroom and she turned away from the fireplace.

Of course he'd demand something with eggs. She rolled her eyes even though he couldn't see the action. "You'll get cereal and you'll like it," she retorted. As she walked to the kitchen, the blue material of his shirt swished around her upper thighs. She couldn't resist smelling the cloth once more.

When he finally made an appearance, she'd laid out two bowls of oatmeal and strawberries.

"This is not French toast," he grimaced, lifting a spoon and letting the thick cream slide off.

"It's good for you," she said, levering herself up on a stool.

He sat next to her. She offered him a strawberry. When all he did was stare at the fruit and then her face, she asked, "Do you like strawberries?"

He sighed and took one as if admitting defeat. "New development," he said under his breath.

After she'd finished her oatmeal and he'd shoved his around in a pretense of eating, she spun on the stool, her knees knocking against his.

He knocked back and she grinned, wondering why people ever went to work if they could just feel this giddy all day.

"I meant to tell you yesterday," he started and she flushed under his collar at the reminder of her belligerent warpath. "I talked to the Chief."

"Oh?" she asked with only mild interest.

"He said you can come back whenever you think you're up for it."

"Oh," she said again, fiddling with her spoon.

His brows rose. "Don't sound too enthused or anything. I thought you were dying to get back."

"Yeah…" she prevaricated. "About that. I was thinking maybe a few days off wouldn't be such a bad thing."

"It wouldn't," he echoed, watching her carefully.

"A vacation," she said.

"I see."

"With you."

"You don't say," he mused. Angling his chin, he gave her a sideways look.

"What?" Her tone was defensive.

"You don't fool me. You've fed the beast." Her mouth fell open. "And now the beast doesn't want surgeries." He grinned. "The beast wants sex."

She shoved his bare shoulder. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Days of uninterrupted sex," he continued.

"Rude," she accused, glaring at him.

He shook his head. "You always were an insatiable witch."

Her lips parted in part shock, part disgust. "Quit being a dumbass."

His voice turned dramatic. "You fractured my penis with your unrealistic demands."

Pink and flustered, she said, "Enough."

"I don't even know where I get the stamina—"

Reaching out, she tipped the spoon over to flick a gob of oatmeal in the air. It landed with exact precision on his cheekbone. Stunned, he was silent. With a calm that should have been worrisome, he lifted one hand to sweep the cream off his skin. Then, in one clean arc, he brought the warm bowl square against her chest.

Her lips formed a silent 'o' as she caught the bowl in her hands, pulling it away to reveal its entire contents on and under his shirt.

She nodded as she set down the bowl. Reaching down her shirt, she pulled out a palm full of oatmeal. He watched her hand warily, edging away on his stool as she extended her hand to put the contents back in the bowl.

He must have done something stupid like blink because her hand changed direction and then he was wearing an oatmeal mask that dripped from his eyes and lips.

Flicking out his tongue, he caught some of the mixture. "You make shitty oatmeal," he said.

"I do not."

"Try some." He swooped down to rub the side of his face across hers. She yelped and nearly fell back off the stool in an attempt to get away from him.

He caught her in time, keeping her place with a hand anchored across her thighs. By tacit agreement, there was a truce as they stood. The oatmeal cooled against her skin and she looked up at him. Pressing her lips together to keep from laughing at the paste covering his eyebrows and soul patch, she deadpanned, "If you're nice, I'll share my shower with you."

He gave the space between her shoulder blades a gentle shove in the direction of their room. "Insatiable witch."

_**AN: Please review! **_


	12. Chapter 11: Jigsaw

_**AN: Hey, all! I'm going to New Zealand for a while so this will be the last chapter for a bit. But I will definitely resume the story when I get back. Enjoy!**_

_**Standard disclaimers apply and, despite due diligence, the inevitable mistakes are my fault.**_

Remembrance

Chapter Eleven: Jigsaw

Immediately after she pursed her lips to blow out the match, smoke plumed up to reach her nostrils. She inhaled the wisps, the scent acrid and fragrant all at once. Three candles, she counted, each placed on various surfaces throughout the room.

He'd be home soon, he'd only run to the market to get ice cream. She'd offered, but he'd been adamant about going himself.

As she left the bedroom, the satin of her robe skimming her thighs, she smiled at the thought of the past two days. They'd quickly nixed the idea of leaving Seattle to escape the rain. The weather didn't matter much when getting out of bed was a rare occurrence.

The fragments of prior unhappiness she'd remembered belonged to another life, another couple. They were long gone, replaced with new memories of a man to whom she couldn't possibly feel closer. She couldn't remember smiling more in her life--while that could have been because she couldn't remember most of her life, she had a feeling the sentiment would hold true sans the amnesia.

In fact, if their chemistry was any indication, they should have had sex more often because it certainly seemed to be a panacea.

Sex, she thought with a rueful smile. Sex whenever a look or a touch darkened their eyes and sent one of them reaching for the other. Sex whenever their fingertips brushed accidentally over food. Food. More like sustenance.

If she were honest with herself, she'd acknowledge the fact that sex was not, nor could it be, the foundation for an entire relationship. It was tenuous ground at best; thin ice waiting to transform the slightest break into a spider web and knock her off her precariously balanced feet.

If she were honest with herself, she'd admit that she was meshing the few known pieces of her life into a disjointed picture. She was shoving mismatched edges together like an impatient child, bending corners any way she could, all to escape the realization that she wasn't playing with all the relevant pieces.

But honesty wasn't fun. Mark was. So when some part of her sensed him in the hallway, she raced to open the front door.

He looked up, keys in hand, surprise in his brows as he took in her negligent pose near the doorway. Two rows of white teeth trapped a long-stemmed rose as she lifted an arm to lean against the frame.

He smiled, his eyes dropping down to the loose knot of her robe before traveling up to her flushed face and dancing eyes.

"Ouch." Her eyes widened in surprise and the words dislodged the stem of the flower. It tumbled to her bare feet.

"Thorn?" he guessed, closing the door behind him.

She nodded, her fingertips wiping a drop of smeared blood from her lips. "Damn," she laughed. "That was going to be sexy as hell." Dropping the pose, she used a tentative tongue to locate the wound.

Desire shot through his abdomen and arrowed down. He dropped the ice cream onto a nearby counter. "_That_ was sexy as hell," he said, circling one arm around her waist to practically haul her into the closest room.

*****

One idle finger twined her straight hair around his fingers while she traced the palm lines of his free hand. Her head resting on his bare abdomen, it rose and fell in an even cadence with every breath he took.

As if a thought just occurred to her, she twisted her head to look at him. "What kind of ice cream did you get?"

He gave an indulgent smile, removing his hand from the cloud of her hair. "Mint chocolate chip."

As he'd predicted, she was up like a shot and he could hear the light slapping of her bare feet in the other room. When she returned, it was with an open carton in her hand and a spoon in her mouth.

She rolled her eyes upward as she came closer, pulling the spoon out. "Good call," she said around a melting bite.

He took the spoon and gouged out a bit before feeding it to her.

"You know what you should get?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued, "A zucchini."

He laughed. "A what?"

She gave him a look that clearly demonstrated he was being slow and she was being tolerant. "A zucchini," she repeated. When his face was blank, she explained, "You know, a tub that holds hot, swirling water?"

His eyes narrowed. "A Jacuzzi."

"That's what I said."

He just nodded, reaching for the ice cream. She pulled the carton out of reach.

"What?"

"Did I say anything?"

"What's with the face?"

"What face?"

"I said Jacuzzi."

"Okay."

Yet she still didn't relinquish the ice cream, twisting her upper body to keep it far away. "What did I say?"

"Zucchini."

She frowned. His smile waned. "It's just a side effect. It'll go away."

Her head bobbed in agreement. "I know, it's just…" She blew out her breath. "I could mean twenty-five milligrams of Lopressor, say grams, and kill someone."

"That's why you're taking some time off," he said, managing to reach the carton and set it on the nightstand.

She shot him an amused look. "Oh, is _that_ why I'm taking time off?"

Mark shrugged. "There's that," he said. "And the fact that if you went to work, there'd be no one to have sex with me."

She laughed, leaning over to kiss his lips. Sticky with ice cream, she licked her own clean as she pulled away. Looking around the spare room, she asked, "What was this room before you had the bed delivered?"

He faltered in the process of licking the spoon. Clearing his throat, he said, "We talked about making it a study."

"I take it we don't have many guests."

He grinned, the action almost proud. "People don't like me."

She smiled back. "I like you."

"Yes, but _you_ don't get to have your own bed." As if to prove his point, he came even closer to her, lifting one arm to fit her against the curve of his side.

She went willingly, scooting along the mattress. "So what should we do with the room now?"

She felt him shrug next to her. "We could still make it a study."

"For you?"

"For us."

She smiled. "We couldn't fit both of us in here. There's not enough room for two desks and chairs."

He tickled her ribs with his fingertips. "I could sit on the chair and you could sit on my lap."

"You're crazy."

"Probably," he agreed.

She shifted to get more comfortable next to him and felt something jab the skin of her arm. She frowned, sitting up and digging a hand around the sheets. When her fingers ran over a foreign object, she pulled it out.

The ring glinted between them and her eyes immediately sought his. She thought back to when she'd first stormed into the room, demanding answers and receiving patience in return. She thought about the way he'd kissed her that night, the ring forgotten as they'd held each other.

Now, with the damned circle of valuable metal and invaluable memories between them again, half of her wanted to hide the ring and go back to where they had been two minutes ago. The other half wanted to see his reaction play out.

He pinched it off her palm and held it up, inspecting it as if he hadn't been the one to pick it out. She tried to read his face, her lips curling inward as she gauged his stoic features. He revealed nothing, resting the ring on the nightstand after a long, silent moment.

"I'm going to take a shower," he said. She blinked at the abrupt segue. As if to soften the blow, he pressed a kiss against her forehead.

She didn't bother trying to convince him to stay. When his back crossed the doorway, she flopped back against the pillows, gathering one close to her chest.

The thin fabric held his scent and she inhaled, thinking if she breathed in hard enough maybe she'd absorb him. Between his clothes and his linen, her olfactory senses were working overtime lately.

She rolled over with the pillow and caught a glimpse of the ring on the stand. The lamp above it lent the jewelry an ethereal halo that was impossible to resist. She stretched out an arm to pick it up once again.

After making sure the doorway was still clear, she hesitated a moment before slipping it onto her third finger. She hadn't tried it on the night she had first discovered it in her jewelry box. It would have been wrong then, trying on the ring a stranger had bought for another stranger. But Mark wasn't a stranger…and neither was she, not anymore.

It glittered against her slender finger, a snug but perfect fit. The thumb of the same hand played with the platinum band, working the stone this way and that. Modeling the ring was borne out of sheer vanity, she knew that, but that didn't mean she couldn't admire the way it looked on her.

After a few moments had passed, she admitted to a feeling of disappointment. Some part of her, the part that didn't quite agree with all Mark had said about new beginnings, had hoped wearing his ring would grant her more pieces, add clarity to a disjointed puzzle.

She sighed; donning the ring hadn't jarred any memories. But, she soon realized, working the ring off her knuckle, taking it off sure as hell did.

_**AN: Please review!**_


	13. Chapter 12: Almost in Love

_**AN: Greetings from New Zealand! I punched this chapter out before my flight and Erin was awesome enough to get it back to me. Let me know what you think!**_

_**Standard disclaimers apply and, despite due diligence, the inevitable mistakes are my fault.**_

Remembrance

Chapter Twelve: Almost In Love

_She let her keychain slip from her fingers into the small bowl by the door. The metal clang reverberated through the empty hallway. The next step was slipping her jacket off, but it took a few seconds for her to summon the energy to raise her arms._

_The day had been exhausting. She thought the night before had been bad, with the twin faces of shock Meredith and Derek had donned. But that was nothing compared to the frosty treatment she'd been given today._

_Meredith didn't bother with glares, she just breezed by her in hallways, making Lexie feel more transparent than hated. She would have preferred the latter; at least that was an emotion._

_She thought back to the time she'd spent in Meredith's attic, the tentative steps they'd taken toward some form of sibling acknowledgment. Now she was about ten steps behind square one._

_In retrospect, the part that pissed Meredith off the most was probably the secrecy. If they had just come right out--if not at the beginning, some months later--and admitted to the secret sex and dirty flirting, maybe the retribution wouldn't be so bad now. But to confess to a secret they'd hidden for almost two years? That was unthinkable. _

_Mark hadn't even been able to get to the part of the story that compelled their confession. Derek had just shaken his head, reaching for Meredith's hand as they both stood to leave. _

"_I cannot believe we're here again," he'd said, disgust visible in his features. The usually soft corners of his eyes had been replaced with a far more daunting persona. _

"_Derek— " Mark tried._

"_Meredith," Lexie said at the same time._

_They hadn't looked back on their way. _

_And apparently that was the last conversation she'd ever have with her sister. She should have never agreed to keep it a secret, not when things had progressed to living together. This was equal parts her fault; she'd brought this upon herself. The knowledge didn't prevent the petty seeds of resentment from taking root inside of her._

His_ choice, _his_ insistence, _his_ fear of losing his best friend. _

_And for what? she thought bitterly. _

_With a shake of her dark head, she hung her coat and moved into the apartment. _

"_Wha--?" She cut herself off as she looked around the living room. The lights were off, but candles illuminated the table. An ice bucket divided two carefully laid plates. _

"_Hey," he greeted. _

"_What's all this?"_

"_This," he gestured, "is because last night was godawful."_

_Guilt for her prior thoughts flooded her. "You didn't have to."_

"_It's more about wanting to."_

_She gave him a tremulous smile and moved closer. With her cheek against his black dress shirt, she let him hug her. Dampness blurred her vision and she blinked a few times. In an attempt to alleviate her own hormones, she said, "Tell me you didn't cook."_

_He laughed above her. "I didn't cook," he confirmed._

_When they pulled away, Lexie's head snapped back, pulled by her hair. "Ow," she grimaced, her face tilted up at an awkward angle._

"_What the—" He tried to peer around her to see what had snagged. He moved his arm again to get a closer look._

"_Ow!" She slapped his shoulder. "Stop doing that."_

"_It's my watch," he sighed. "It's in your hair."_

_Bringing her head closer to his chest, she bent at the neck so he could work out the tangle. _

_After a few attempts, he gave up. "I can't get it from this angle," he said. "Can you turn around?" As if to guide her, he began moving his arm closer to his body. _

"_Hey—Ow, whoa, wait!" Arms behind her neck, she attempted to keep her hair attached to her head. "Okay, let's go slowly." She bent at the waist and they twisted around each other until his wrist and her back faced him. _

_It took a few minutes but he finally detached his watch, though a few of Lexie's burgundy hairs were sacrificed in the process. _

_When she turned to face him, one hand rubbing her scalp, they exchanged smiles. His was fleeting, almost nervous. Clearing his throat, he said, "Dinner," before moving into the kitchen. _

_They took their first bite of the salmon in unison. Lexie's smile died around her fork. She attempted chewing for about two seconds before giving up. Around the inedible mouthful, she mumbled, "I thought you said you didn't cook."_

_His expression mirrored hers. He glared down at the plate as if threatening it to transform into something palatable. "I didn't. I ordered in from _Pastis_." He set his fork down with a clamor. "Damn, this was supposed to be perfect."_

_She spit the fish into a linen napkin, the taste still on her tongue. Chugging her glass of ice water didn't relieve it. "Oh, God," she moaned, grabbing her stomach. Fingers pressed against her lips, she made a run for the bathroom._

_Mark was waiting with a wet cloth for her when she unlocked the door a few minutes later. Sympathy etched on his features, he gave her another glass of water. _

"_I ordered a pizza," he said, his voice glum. He looked so disappointed, she didn't have the heart to tell him she'd rather get an enema than eat anything. _

_She blew out her breath, the mint of the toothpaste she'd used cooling the inside of her mouth. "Pizza is a great idea."_

_It arrived twenty minutes later and she ate her slice with a determination she'd reserved for her boards. Crumpling her napkin, she sat back with a sigh when nothing but the crust was left. _

"_Water?" he asked, getting up with both their glasses. He'd fiddled through the entire meal, scarcely eating two slices when she knew well enough that he could inhale half a pie before she'd blinked. _

_She nodded as he moved past her. When he came back, she reached up to take the proffered glass. In a completely uncharacteristic motion, his foot caught the end of the throw rug and he stumbled, tipping the entire contents down her shirt. _

_She gasped as ice tumbled into her top. She leapt to her feet, pulling the soggy material away from her skin. _

_His brows rose at the mess on her and he reached out to help the same time she moved for napkins. Their arms collided and the other glass tipped over onto the open pizza carton before bouncing off to land on the carpet. _

_She reached to pick up the glass. Unfortunately, so did he. Their foreheads met with enough force to knock her back. Reeling on her haunches, she rubbed her forehead in pain and looked up to see him doing the same. _

"_Unbelievable," he muttered, staring at the soaked pizza with an undisguised grimace. "Just fantastic."_

_She shivered under her wet shirt as she stood. "It's okay, I think we were done eating anyway."_

"_No," he shook his head. "Not that." He sucked in a deep breath, his hands riding low on his hips. Turning to face her, he said, "I was going to wait until the end of the night, but the way things are going, you might be dead by then."_

_Her eyes narrowing, she gave a slight shake of her head as if to convey her confusion. "I don't—"_

"_Just—just wait." He held out a hand, palm up. Tucking his chin to his chest, he took a moment before lifting his head again. He dug into his pocket and lowered himself onto the carpet. "This isn't ideal, in fact, it's a damned mess, but marry me anyway."_

_Her first thought was whether he was talking about the night being a mess or just _them _in general. Her next was completely drowned out by the alarm bells blaring in her head. _

"_I…." she stuttered, her fingers dropping from her wet shirt to her side. She stared at his right earlobe, knowing time was running out, that with each passing second his smile was losing its brilliance, but still unable to do anything about it. _

_The man she loved was on one knee, offering her a lifetime of family and memories and stability. _

_There was absolutely no answer but yes. _

_But all she could think about was Meredith's stricken face as she divided a look between her and Mark. Lexie could practically see her sister's thoughts as they pieced together what had happened over the past two years. When Lexie had said she was moving out to live on her own, she was really shacking up with her sister's boyfriend's soon to be ex-friend. When Lexie had politely turned down her Thanksgiving invitation, she had had someone else with whom to share the holiday. When Lexie had stuttered through a million excuses to not go to Joe's it was because Mark was waiting for her at home. _

_And now, with Mark's anxious face below her, she simultaneously wanted to cry, throw up, and slap him. Above all, she wanted to demand why. Why now? Was it because losing a best friend over a woman wasn't acceptable, so he'd decided to turn their relationship into something that justified such a betrayal?_

_There was a much more obvious answer, but by this time, his gaze was on her left hand which was in his larger one, the ring already on her finger. _

_Of course he'd take her yes for granted. The thought held no rancor. It was logical. She loved him, she needed him, now more than ever. Why would she say anything but yes?_

_She parted her dry lips to speak. "I need some time," she finally said, her voice clogged with emotion. "Just…to think." Her head throbbed. _

_His fingers slid from hers, taking their warmth with them. He rose to his full height, clearing his throat. "Right," he said. "Of course." Frost tipped each of his words and she closed her eyes against his latent anger. _

"_Mark, please," she started, when he leaned over to clear the soggy carton. _

_His actions were entirely too calm and her pleaded words seemed to snap something inside of him. He slammed the carton back onto the table. "Please what?" he growled. "I heard you, Lexie. Take all the goddamn time you want."_

_Tears blurred her vision. It wasn't supposed to be like this, _they_ weren't supposed to end up like this._

"_You have to listen to me," she said, reaching out to touch his sleeve. "I don't know—"_

_He wouldn't look at her, giving her his back instead. He let out a derisive laugh. "Neither do I."_

_Her useless hand floated in the air before falling. She had no idea how to begin to fix this, how to make him understand everything that worried her, everything that kept her up at night._

"_Can we just drop it?" he said, sounding tired. _

_No! she should have screamed. Instead: "Yeah," she sighed, bending to help him clean up._

_They slept on opposite sides of the bed that night. _

_**AN: Please review!**_


	14. Chapter 13: Black Holes

_**AN: Hey guys! NZ was fabulous, I went sky diving and still can't believe I managed to jump out of a plane. =) This chapter is dark, but I loved writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it, intensity aside. Love it or hate it, do let me know what you think!**_

_**Standard disclaimers apply and, despite due diligence, the inevitable mistakes are my fault.**_

Remembrance

_Imagine a star so luminous it attracts the very light it emits, rendering it invisible._

"The largest luminous bodies in the universe may, through this cause, be invisible." – Pierre LaPlace(1798)

Chapter Thirteen: Black Holes

The ring was off and back on the nightstand before he returned, the scent of soap lingering on his skin. Nose pressed against the smooth skin of his shoulder, she leaned into him as he read. Long before he'd returned, she'd decided not to mention the recollection of the engagement that never was. Despite the fact every nerve cell in her body was screaming at her to apologize and find some segue to him proposing again, she focused instead on more neutral topics.

"I start work tomorrow," she said.

He made a noise of distracted agreement. "Mmm."

She toyed with a loose thread on the comforter. Neutral be damned. "Things have to be different this time."

He set his book down and looked at her. "They are different."

"I mean at work." She pressed her lips together. "You have to be fair."

He frowned. "I've never favored you."

"That's not what I meant." It was hard to look him in the eye and her cheeks were on fire, but she pressed on. "You can't treat me like crap just to prove I'm not getting special treatment. That's everyone else's job."

His posture grew defensive. He looked at the wall. "I've never treated you like crap," he scoffed.

She bobbed her head. "Yes," she said. "Yes, you have. In fact, you were kind of a tool."

He sat up straighter against the pillows. "You remember?"

She shook her head, her hair swinging over his shoulder. "No, not everything…just bits."

His back relaxed. He waited a moment, hesitating over his next words, before saying, "You never said anything."

"I know," she sighed. "I should have. I just—I was just…"

"Just…"he coaxed.

She shrugged. "Scared, I guess." It was a cop-out, but he let it slide. She cleared her throat. "But I'm telling you now."

He peered at her, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. "Is this you communicating?"

She nodded primly. "Thank you for noticing."

His eyes never leaving hers, he said, "Okay, tomorrow I'll try not to be a…" He squinted one eye while tilting his head to the side. "What was that again?"

Her mouth broke into a smile. "A tool," she supplied.

"A tool," he repeated. He picked up his book and she did the same, using his shoulder as a pillow as she read.

*****

Thus far they'd trusted her to do patient histories. Lots and lots of patient histories. Patient histories and shadowing until she got back into the swing of how things were done at Seattle Grace. Doctor Webber's orders.

Her interns had been split amongst the other residents while she'd been gone and the Chief said it would stay that way until further notice. Sadie, whom she recognized from her visits while she was in the hospital, pointed each of them out to her in the cafeteria. They'd looked terrified, darting furtive looks at their table every few minutes.

"Are they always that scared?"

Sadie laughed as she bit into a carrot. "They weren't before. Before they had you making cupcakes and redoing their charts."

Lexie choked. "Are you kidding me?"

Sadie shrugged. "It may be a slight exaggeration, but only slight."

"So what happened?"

She grinned, pulling a blonde curl behind her ear. "Sloan. And Yang. But mainly Sloan."

Lexie motioned for her to continue, her salad forgotten. "He said if they couldn't figure out basic respect, they sure as hell couldn't figure out which end of a scalpel to cut with. Then he made them wash your car."

"Mark did that?" Lexie couldn't help but smile.

Sadie nodded. "Then he yelled at you."

"Me?" Her questions were getting tedious, but Lexie couldn't have helped it if she tried. Shock pulled her brows up to her hairline.

"Said if you couldn't get a few moronic cubs in line, you had no business calling yourself a surgeon."

Lexie swallowed. "And you know this how?"

Sadie's kewpie mouth pursed. "Because he did it in front of the entire cafeteria."

Lexie nodded slowly, letting out a long breath. "Wow," was all she could manage. "And Yang?"

"Sloan told Yang to show you how it's done."

"Did she?"

Sadie jerked her head in the direction of the four interns gaping at them. When Lexie looked, they all stared at their trays, intent on acting nonchalant. "What do you think?"

"Did I name them?"

Sadie's carrot paused in front of her lips. "Yes," she said, surprised.

"_You, you're now Pickles because you smell like one. You're Cheese because I hate cheese and I hate you." She moved down the line. "You're Nugget because that's the size of your brain…and I'm being generous there." She smirked as she approached the last intern. He'd messed up her post-of charts five weeks in a row, making them not only delinquent, but also just plain wrong. "And you're Barbie. Can you tell me why?"_

_His eyes on the floor, he muttered, "Because I'm the free toy that comes with every meal?"_

_She ruffled his hair. "Good, Barbie," she cooed. _

"Pickles, Cheese, Nugget, and Barbie," she recited in the cafeteria with Sadie smiling at her. "Because they're a few fries—"

"—short of a Happy Meal," Sadie chimed in.

"What about your interns?"

Waving a dismissive hand, Sadie grinned. "They're around. I just decimate one every few days."

"Brutal, but effective," she quoted. They shared another smile.

*********

Concentration didn't come easily, not when Lexie was in the halls, left to her own devices. He'd managed to leave her to it throughout most of the morning, stemming the urge to check up on her every twenty minutes. At lunchtime he'd broke down and manufactured a casual errand to run by the cafeteria. Safe and laughing, she was looking at Sadie as if she hadn't sliced her open for sport.

Shaking his head, he reserved judgment. If Derek could forgive him for Addison, maybe Sadie acting as if the unnecessary extraction of an organ wasn't a big deal really wasn't a conundrum.

Seven hours, he counted. Seven hours and they'd be home again. There'd be no hospital, no interns, no traumas, just him, Lexie, and a huge bed. And maybe some ice cream.

It was surprising how something that seemed mundane to most could be the highlight of his life. But when it was true, it was true, he thought once more, remembering him and Derek among mountains of roses and candles.

The resurrection of his relationship with Lexie was a dawning light, and the presence of light created shadows. Every morning that Lexie smiled and looked up at him, all trust and warm guile, he was given a reprieve from the shadows. He waited with bated breath, so desensitized to the fist of apprehension around his chest, he'd forgotten what it felt like to live without it.

Their last vacation day together, when she'd inhaled in that way she did when she was about to unload something big off her chest, the fist had squeezed a bit tighter. When she'd called him out on being an unfair ass at work, he was sure it was a test and that she remembered. But her request had been genuine, not a caustic throwback to the night she'd confronted him months ago.

Had it been months? He walked along the corridors, his mouth tightening into a grim line. Felt like years. But that was the funny thing about altering events; they made everything in the before seem like it happened to a different person.

He knew more than just a fleeting gnaw of guilt at the lie he'd told. But if she could forget, he should be afforded the same indulgence. Indulgence and the delusion that if they both didn't address the past, the words they'd exchanged back then would just dissolve and lose all relevance.

As if punishing him both for the lie he'd told last night and the selfishness of wanting to forget, his memory took him back. And this time, it refused to yield to the careful discipline of suppression.

****

_His keys pinged in the dish they kept by the front door. _

"_Lexie?" he called as he walked through the hallway, his jacket halfway off by the time he saw her sitting at the kitchen table, a banana occupying her full attention. _

_Her hands busy, he came up behind her and planted a perfunctory kiss on her head. She acknowledged it with a murmur, her eyes trained on the fruit._

_His eyes flickered over to the line of neat sutures on the banana. _

"_Running whipstitch," he said. "I didn't know you'd learned that."_

_She was silent for a long moment and he saw the curve of her jaw clench as if she was swallowing words with considerable effort. "That's not surprising," she finally said. The words were meant to be airy, but there was steel behind them. Steel that caused him to pause on his way to the kitchen. _

"_What do you mean?" he asked._

"_When was the last time you saw me in an OR? Or when you even let me in on a case with you?" she threw back._

_Surprised, he unscrewed the cap on a bottle of water and shrugged. "I'm not sure, last week maybe."_

_She snorted in derision. "Try Mrs. Patterson's surgery."_

_He frowned. Had it been that long? "I—" he started._

_He shouldn't have bothered because apparently she wasn't looking for explanations. "You've done your damnedest to make sure I forget what the inside of an OR even looks like." _

_There was such rancor in her voice, his brows shot up. "That's bullshit," he said, his temper rankled by hers. _

"_Then why has every single one of Yang's interns scrubbed in with you this month but me?" He had no answer. She gave him a humorless smile. "So either you're compromising my education or you think I'm stupid. Which is it, Mark? Are you a crappy teacher or am I a moron?"_

_While talking, she'd abandoned the banana, standing up next to the chair and crossing her arms over her chest._

_His jaw set, he finally spoke. "I've taught you, Lexie."_

_She let out a bark of laughter. "Seriously? _No one_ teaches us." Her eyes squinted at him as she shook her head, her ponytail swishing, echoing her adamant movements. "Why do you think we starting that club? It wasn't because we're sadistic sociopaths, it was because all we wanted to do was learn."_

"_And that worked out really well," he bit out. "I seem to remember you earning yourself a nice, long probation full of learning with that stunt."_

_She glared at him. "I know how to do a running whipstitch. You wanna know why?"_

_He gave her a look that told her could care less. She pressed on. "Yang. Yang taught me. _Yang_ taught me while my own boyfriend doesn't give a damn about my skills as a surgeon."_

"_That's bullshit."_

"You're_ bullshit," she snapped, apathetic to the childishness of such a comeback. "You and the entire program."_

"_What do you want, Lexie?" He threw up his hands in a gesture of exasperation. "You want me to reform the entire program because my girlfriend doesn't feel adequate?"_

"_No, of course not," she rushed, her voice placating before the venom returned. "That would entail you actually acknowledging me as your girlfriend, wouldn't it?"_

_They were quiet then, glaring at each other across the dining table. _

_She was the first to speak, her words quiet, each one deliberate and slow. "Everything I am as a doctor, every stitch I know, every procedure I've mastered, it's all in spite of you."_

_His chin tipped up as if she'd struck him. He looked at her, his nostrils flaring slightly as he inhaled. "I have taught you, Lexie," he repeated quietly. "Even if you're too damned childish to admit it."_

"_Childish? Oh, I get it, just because I'm younger than you, I'm automatically immature while you're the paragon of all that is wise." She rolled her eyes as she turned away from him. _

"_Age has nothing to do with this." His voice gained volume with each passing word. _

"_No, it's about the fact that you taught me back when you wanted to get in my pants and after that mission was accomplished, you couldn't be bothered."_

"_Damn you!" he yelled, slamming his fist on the table. The banana jumped before shuddering to a stop. "Do you want people second guessing every accomplishment you achieve? Do you want your peers thinking you screwed your way up?" His eyes flashed blue fire down at her and though he told himself that it was enough, that he'd made his point, he continued on, his voice lowering to a silky taunt. "Or maybe you just don't care if people think you whore yourself out to attendings."_

_She blinked at the attack before narrowing her eyes and responding in kind. "Maybe I should whore myself to another one and actually get in on a surgery."_

_He looked at her for a long moment. Her face was cold, her features set into a mask of distaste. Even the pink hue that normally tinged her cheeks was gone, her skin pale and icy. "Is that why you're with me?" he finally asked, the words quiet. _

_If there was vulnerability in the question, she either missed it or chose to ignore it. Her eyes flickered down to his belt and then lower before twisting her lips up. "No, I'm with you because the nurses talk and you're good at using what God gave you."_

_His jaw clenched at the words, but his eyes remained trained on her, his gaze steady and stoic. When he spoke, it was with a sneer. His eyes travelled down her chest to rest between her thighs before moving up again. "Well, then I guess _have_ taught you a thing or two, haven't I?"_

_He made a neat pivot on his heel, leaving her and the apartment for the relative peace of Joe's. After debating whether or not spending the night in Derek's trailer would raise too many questions, he finally went home. _

_The fight out of her, she looked up from her seat on the couch, dried tracks of tears adding no color to her face. Small hands tucked under her chin, her eyes followed his movements into the living room. _

_He sat down across from her, one hand rubbing across his jaw just for the sake of moving. _

"_I don't know what's happened to us," she whispered, the words raspy. _

_He looked at her over the ridge of his brows. Elbow bent on the arm of the leather chair, he was silent for a long moment. The four fingers of his hand jerked toward his palm twice, the gesture beckoning._

_He was cradling her in his lap the next moment, his fingers buried in her hair._

"_I had no idea you resented me so much," he said after a long while. _

_She waited so long before replying, he thought she must have fallen asleep. Then she answered, her voice thin and barely audible. "Neither did I."_

_**AN: Please review!**_


	15. Chapter 14: Event Horizon

_**AN: Hi everyone! This chapter is a bit shorter than most, but the next chapter is already done and ready for edits. **_

_**I cannot believe we have to wait so long for a new episode of Grey's! It's kind of ridiculous. Enjoy!**_

_**Standard disclaimers apply and, despite due diligence, the inevitable mistakes are my fault.**_

Remembrance

_An area inside which events cannot affect an outside observer. Consequently, once an object crosses this boundary, it cannot return to the other side. _

Chapter Fourteen: Event Horizon

When Lexie first heard Sloan had a big surgery, she immediately counted herself out. She still, however, she stood in line with the rest of the second year residents, their interns milling around behind them. When he asked the first question regarding ear reconstruction, she was slow to raise her hand, only half paying attention to the question. But when Steve was wrong, he turned to her, saying, "Grey," in a matter-of-fact voice that was entirely too casual to be arbitrary.

She was so surprised, she stuttered. But her answer spilled out eventually. He gave her a terse nod. "You and one of your interns can scrub in." Handing her a chart, he turned, leaving a cluster of labcoat-clad students in his wake. She gripped the chart to her chest, looking around.

Steve was double checking the pad of notes he kept tucked in his pocket. Her interns were preening now that they'd weeded out a huge chunk of the competition. No one was even giving her a second look.

She smiled. This was what progress felt like.

****

Two days later she ran to the on call room, pager in hand and grinning. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this page," she said as she entered, already reaching for the hem of her scrub top.

He stood up when she entered, his face solemn. When his hands stilled hers, she looked up. Brow furrowing at his somber expression, she said, "What's wrong?"

"I love you," he said, his hands bracing her shoulders. When her eyes rounded in surprise, he rushed to placate her. "You don't have to say anything; I could wait to hear it, but not to say it." He exhaled, his shoulders flexing as if releasing some unseen onus. "I—" he started again, equipped with more disclaimers and prevarications.

"I love you, too," she interrupted, clamping a hand over his mouth.

She saw his cheeks lift into a smile and smiled back, slipping her hand away after he pressed a kiss against her palm.

"And I didn't have an answer for you then, but I do now. I'll marry you. A thousand times. Today. Whenever you want." Her face paled with embarrassed realization, and she began backtracking. "Unless you don't want to…I can wait, too. It's okay. You haven't even asked, not really, not _this_ time, but..."

It was his turn to press his palm against her busy mouth. "If I'd married you yesterday it wouldn't be soon enough."

She licked his hand and he pulled it away, wiping it on his scrub pants with an expression of mock disgust. When he pulled her close to him, her arms linked around his neck. Head bent, he leaned down to kiss her, his palms slipping under the fabric of her top.

She angled her hips closer to his and his hands spanned her waist as he pulled her away from him. Letting out a sound of protest, her eyes asked an unspoken question.

Regret filled his voice. "I have to get back to work," he said, checking his watch.

"I'm off in a few hours," she said, her lower half moving against his with a hint of suggestion before letting him go. "I can make us dinner?"

He gave a brusque nod. "And we need to get you a new ring."

She laughed. "I _have_ a ring."

He shook his adamantly. "That was from before. This is new; new us, new ring."

"But I like that ring."

"You'll like this one better."

It was ridiculous. _He_ was ridiculous. "What are we going to do with the other ring?"

He let out a negligent shrug. "Who cares?" He stole another kiss, one boasting of familiarity and she reveled in the comfort of such a gesture. "I'll see you tonight."

When he left, she practiced not smiling. But even when she physically used her fingers to pull down the corners of her mouth, it was futile. Giving up, she left the room, ignoring the knowing looks from the nurses nearby.

Let them look. She was going to be a bride.

****

The grocery store, she acknowledged with an impatient sigh, was an absolute zoo at five in the evening. She ticked off another item on her mental list as she dropped a bag of cilantro next to the two wine bottles she'd already chosen. All she needed was salmon and some lemons. When she added the freshly selected fish to the cart, she knocked over the small carton of gourmet ice cream standing in the built-in child's seat of her cart. She bent to find it after it rolled on the floor near the produce section. As her fingers reached, so did her mind and it went into overdrive, giving her images and pictures in vivid Technicolor.

By the time she stood, her face was white, her brain too full of things that weren't welcome. Mind screaming in protest, she inhaled. Then exhaled. Once more. Then she systematically walked around the store, replacing each item with utmost care. When she returned the last can of peas to its original home, she walked her cart to its designated drop off point, her motions on autopilot.

She followed the speed limit on the way home, signaled at every turn, stopped for every light and stop sign. She even let two cars turn from their driveways into her lane with patience akin to that of an angel.

But by the time she walked into his empty apartment, there was no more procrastinating. After slipping out of her jacket and boots, her eyes fell on the picture-laden mantle for the umpteenth time. Only this time, there was no frustration, no racking her mind for the missing key.

She knew the answer now, she thought grimly before walking into the master bedroom.

Her actions were deliberate, knowing. She immediately went to the top drawer of the nightstand, her fingers finding the second book in the low stack. She flipped through the crisp pages, the flapping sound halting when thick photo paper stilled its rhythm.

Although prepared, she couldn't help the small cry that escaped when she pulled out the photograph. It wasn't particularly artistic or skillfully taken; it was grainy and black and white. But, for an all-too-short while, it had been her world.

She traced the white curves on the picture with tentative fingertips. Her name was in block letters on the lower corner.

She saw him darken the doorway out of the corner of her eye. When she looked up to meet his grim face, her vision was blurry with tears. Anger cleared her eyes within seconds.

"We were going to have a baby," she said. The words were expressionless; it wasn't a question.

His face bleak, he echoed a confirmation, "We were going to have a baby."

_**AN: Please review!**_


	16. Chapter 15: Singularity

_**AN: Thank you guys so much for the feedback to the last chapter. Some of you saw it coming, others were stunned, but either way, you let me know what you thought and THANK YOU! **_

_**This chapter is for Miss Blanche-Dubois. I can't resist virtual chocolate. It has all the sentiment and none of the fat. =) It's also a shameless plea to get more chapters for Crying Consequences! **_

_**Standard disclaimers apply and, despite due diligence, the inevitable mistakes are my fault.**_

Remembrance

_At the center, matter is crushed to infinite density, rendering time and space meaningless. _

Chapter Fifteen: Singularity

Lexie looked down at the sonogram. "All you know how to do is lie," she whispered brokenly, letting the picture fall to the bed.

"Lexie—" he started, reaching for her.

She dodged his grasp with an agility borne of desperation rather than innate grace. "Don't." The word was surprisingly forceful considering how fragile she appeared.

They stared at each other for a long moment, his eyes wary, hers stricken. Deciding surprise was his best option, he reached for her again, his long legs eating the distance between them. She spun away from him, heading toward the doorway he'd just vacated. His fingers grasped her elbow and she shook him off with a violence that jarred her teeth.

She made it to the front door, slowing down long enough to grab a keychain from the counter. He was at her heels the entire time, but she slammed the door behind her. Yanking it back open cost him precious time; when he finally reached the elevator, the doors were already sliding over the image of her jabbing the panel as if she wished it were his eye.

Letting out a swift curse, he smashed a futile fist against the metal doors before racing to the stairs. He bounded down them three at a time until he burst into the lobby. She exited the elevators at the same time and they caught each other's eye for a split second before she cut a hard left and raced out of the building.

He was patting his pockets for keys that weren't there when he saw his Porsche come out of the carpark.

Once again, he swore, this time into the thin mist of rain in front of him. As he made his way back into the lobby, he took out his phone. By the time the elevator arrived, Derek had already answered.

*******

Her father had taught her how to drive on his old hatchback. The car had been one temperamental son of a bitch, but Thatcher Grey had refused to get rid of it. A rite of passage of sorts, Molly had learned to drive in it after Lexie had gotten her license. Its third gear had always stuck, but she'd adapted, growing so used to the clunker that when she'd finally converted to an automatic, the change had been bittersweet. So Mark's car, with its sleek stickshift and smooth third gear, was absolutely no problem.

Neither was remembering how to get to Meredith's house.

The problem, then, was mustering up the energy and will to climb the steps. She hiccupped once last time, giving her damp cheeks two angry swipes.

She thought to when they'd first found out about the baby. It'd been at the hospital, she'd known for about two days with absolutely no idea how to spring the news to her live-in boyfriend.

In the end, she hadn't had to say anything. He'd caught her coming out of the restroom one afternoon, her face wan and her eyes overly bright. One slim hand had been wiping her freshly rinsed mouth, her trembling fingers a telltale sign of what she'd been up to.

"Rectal exams?" he'd joked, giving her a half smile as he referenced their earlier spat.

She'd shaken her head silently, her eyes huge as she had looked up at him.

His smile had frozen before splintering into a gaping expression. They'd stared at each other, both trying to think of something to say and coming up short. Then a trauma had rushed in, Hunt had called out his name and Mark had given her one last look before backing away.

The topic had been pushed back until they were both in the apartment that night. He touched her flat abdomen reverently and she knew whether or not she was keeping the baby was a nonissue.

"We'll tell Meredith and Derek tomorrow," he'd said with a short nod.

And she had done nothing but nod back, too startled to say anything.

And now, as she opened Mark's car door, she acknowledged that they'd never gotten to the part about the baby. Her sister's appalled anger had truncated any explanation. In fact, neither Meredith nor Derek had known about the baby until it was gone.

Meredith answered shortly after Lexie's first knock; she must have already been in the living room.

"I was pregnant," she said without preamble. Shouldering past the other woman, she stood in the hallway without any clear picture of where to go next.

Meredith closed the door behind them. Both of them stood without moving. "So Mark told you."

Lexie let out a hollow laugh, the sound harsh even to her own ears. "No, actually, Mark didn't. _Mark_," she spat out the name, "it seems, isn't really into the truth. Lies are much more up his alley."

One fine brow rose as Meredith took in the younger woman's latent fury. Angry Lexie wasn't something she'd experienced in her limited time as a big sister. So she slipped to her default setting. Lifting her shoulders, she asked in what she hoped was a helpful voice, "Is it tequila time?"

Lexie sighed. "Lead the way," she said. "I also wanted to apologize."

"Apologize?"

"We should have told you about us sooner," she said. "_I_ should have told you about us sooner."

Meredith shrugged. "Water. Bridge. All that."

Lexie sat on a kitchen stool while Meredith pulled open cabinets. "I am such an idiot," she said, cradling her head on her hands. "That's the only reason he proposed. And that's why I never said yes."

Meredith's hands stilled over two shot glasses. "He risked his friendship with Derek to be with you. I'd bet love had something to do with it, too."

But Lexie wasn't listening. Her forehead head had lowered from her palms to pressing against the counter. "I said I'd marry him," she moaned.

Meredith's brow furrowed. "I thought you said you never said yes?"

Lexie's head rolled side to side on the counter in a negative motion. "Not then. _Now_. I told him I'd marry him _now_." She let out another groan. "I _asked_ him to marry me."

Meredith let out a low whistle and forgot about the measured glasses. Twisting off the cap, she took a swig before passing it to Lexie. "That is bad," Meredith said, her voice tentative, almost a question.

"Awful," Lexie corrected, wincing as she swallowed a lethal dose.

"Why?"

"I can't marry him," she cried, shaking her head so vehemently her vision blurred. "I can't even look at him." She took another swig. They passed the bottle between them for a few silent moments.

"I can't believe he lied to me all this time. What did he think would happen?"

Meredith shrugged. "Maybe he just wanted another chance to do it right."

"Bullshit." She spat the word out like a bullet.

Another round of silence followed Lexie's outburst, filled only by the sound of tequila sloshing around as they drank.

"Does he know you're here?" Meredith asked, her eyes travelling up to the ceiling automatically.

And then Lexie got suspicious. "No." She waited a beat, her eyes also rolling upward. "Derek's here, isn't he?"

Meredith waited a split second too long to answer and Lexie was off the stool so fast her head swam. "I'm not going back there," she said. She was already in the hallway looking for her keys when Derek came downstairs, phone in hand.

"Lexie," he greeted. His voice was so careful, as if he were speaking to someone fragile and volatile, there was no mistaking what he knew.

"Where are my keys?" she demanded, looking at Meredith.

"You shouldn't be driving right now," Derek said.

Ignoring him, she looked at her sister. "Give me the keys," she said, her palm out.

Meredith divided a look between her sister and boyfriend. "You've been drinking," she finally said.

"Unbelievable," she muttered, yanking open the front door. She jogged down the front steps, resisting the temptation to break one of the windows on Mark's beloved Porsche. The tequila swam in her stomach, warming her insides and fuzzing her brain.

She'd walked two blocks in some random direction when she recognized her own blue Honda pulling up next to her.

"Go away," she said, not bothering to turn to look at the driver. Her arms were crossed over her chest in a gesture that was more for warmth than to convey any obstinacy. Two birds, she thought grimly.

"Get in, Lexie," he said, the window rolled down as he leaned over. One large hand controlled her steering wheel with ease.

"Eat shit and die," she snapped, walking faster even though there was no chance of outpacing him. The tequila's edge was fast fading and the cold was seeping through her clothes. She turned a corner and her car hugged the curb as he followed.

"Get in the damn car before you freeze to death."

"I'd rather freeze than get anywhere near you." Setting her jaw against the cold, she kept walking. She could practically feel her cheeks and nose pinkening against the cold. Her breath came out in short, hurried white clouds.

His voice grew tighter. "I could just shove you in the car, you know."

"I'd scream for the cops."

"I'd be happy to tell them you'd escaped from the fifth floor of Seattle Grace."

Damn him, he was mocking her. She stopped so suddenly, the car went ahead a few feet before reversing.

"This isn't funny," she told him once he'd stopped.

"I'm not laughing," he said, no trace of a smile on his sharp features. "Now come home."

The sky broke then, pouring rain with a ferocity that left her drenched in seconds. She could have laughed at the perfection of it all. Instead, she turned and began walking the same way she'd come. To his credit, he didn't give up, choosing to pull her car in reverse and become her shadow. Her tires crept parallel to the curb and he didn't even bother looking behind him. Negligence at its worst, she thought snidely.

"Damn it, Lexie," he said. "You're going to get sick. Get in the car."

Rain collected on her scalp and streamed down the side of her face, hanging off the tip of her nose before falling. She sniffed. "I hate you," she said.

He sighed. "I know."

She stopped again, hugging herself tightly as if to keep her insides together. Teeth chattering, she finally looked at him. "How?" she asked, rain slithering across her lips. "How could you look at me every day and lie to my face?"

"I didn't lie," he said.

She gave him a withering glare. "Omission. I wouldn't split hairs right now if I were you."

"Get in the car," he repeated. "We can talk about this at home."

"I don't want to go _your_ apartment."

"It's ours."

"Never felt like it," she muttered.

He thumped the steering wheel in obvious frustration. "So we'll move. Just get in."

"Were you ever going to tell me?" She stood still, squinting her eyes against the weather. Rain drenched her lashes and she blinked rapidly.

The time for lies had passed. So he looked her dead in the eye and answered, "No."

Emitting a low sound of disgust, she resumed walking. Behind her, Mark slammed out of the car and jogged the distance between them. He lunged for her elbow and spun her around, water flinging from the wet pelt of her hair in a clean arc.

"You can't park there," she said hotly, looking at her gleaming Honda. The twin hazards were the only sign of life in the middle of the deserted street.

He glowered down at her, his hand a manacle around her arm. "Do you honestly think I care about the car right now?"

"Why would you?" she burst out, yelling over the drumming rain. "If it was your precious Porsche, I'd never hear the end of it, but my car can get towed, is that it?"

"What the hell do our cars have to do with anything?" he exploded.

"Nothing!" Trying to wrench her arm free, she continued her harangue. "You're just selfish. Selfish and cruel and—and…"

"And?" he coaxed, shouting now. "Don't stop there."

She yanked free of him to bring her hands up near her head. Searching for words she clawed at the air around her hair. "And _terrible_!"

"Fine! I'm the bad guy." He pointed to himself with a vicious stab of his finger. "Whatever's easier for you, Lexie."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're always the victim, Lexie. And I'm always the asshole. It gets old."

"Are you seriously trying to turn tables here? You _lied_ to me, you kept just about the biggest secret there is from me."

"Yes! I did!" He leaned forward and she could see the rain clumping his lashes. "Aren't you even curious _why_?"

"I know why," she cried, wrapping her arms around her waist once more. "Because you were sick of living with a girlfriend who cried over a dead baby all the time."

He shook his head at her, water flinging around them. "I don't even know what to say to that." Arms outstretched, he asked, "What do you want me to say?"

Cold, tired, and feeling as alone as she had the day her mother died, she began to cry. Her tears heated cheeks already damp from rain. Saline and rainwater mingled together and she looked up at the night sky. The stars were hiding. "I want—" She hiccupped. "I want you to hurt like I hurt."

Which made her just as selfish as she'd accused him of being. Worse. Because even as she looked at him, loathing the betrayal the sight of him conjured, she ironically, sought comfort from the very person who'd caused her such pain.

The bleak thought was her undoing. Giving up, she crumpled onto the sidewalk, her feet still holding her weight as she pressed her forehead to her knees. When he reached for her with two strong hands, she didn't bother resisting. A moment later her soggy jeans were ruining the upholstery of her car.

Exhausted but still unwilling to concede, she turned her head away from him as if to remind him he was far from forgiven. She stared out the rain-splattered window for the first few minutes of their journey. Somewhere between a 7-11 and his apartment, she fell asleep.

_**AN: Please review!**_


	17. Chapter 16: Escape Velocity

_**AN: Standard disclaimers apply and, despite due diligence, the inevitable mistakes are my fault.**_

Remembrance

_Imagine an object so dense, not even the speed of light is fast enough to escape its pull._

Chapter Sixteen: Escape Velocity

He knew it was wrong, but he preferred her asleep. Her face, thought drained, was innocent, quiet, calm. It wasn't hurling accusations at him, it wasn't bleeding him dry as it demanded his guilt.

He'd be lying if he denied that the resentment she felt toward him wasn't mutual. He wasn't a saint, he'd never purported to be. To have her, with bright idealism infused in here every action and word, look at him as if he'd robbed her of what she'd expected out of life was more than difficult. It was offensive. It was unbearable.

Of course he'd hoped she'd forget about the miscarriage. It was a gift he, too, craved. Why would anyone deny themselves such oblivion and a chance to start anew?

Even now, with the accident making their arguments from before seem like another lifetime, he shuddered to think about the shell of Lexie he'd seen after they'd lost the baby.

Though she'd never worn his ring again, they'd forged a sort of forgiving alliance as they'd prepared for the baby. A baby tied her to him. God help him, he hadn't been above exploiting that, at least, he'd told himself, until they could get back on the ground where love had began.

His mouth twisted into a rueful grin as he thought about the second onesie he'd bought in his life. It had been followed by an eagerly purchased car seat and paint samples for the baby room. Lexie wasn't Addison and he wasn't _that_ guy anymore and this wasn't going to be like last time.

All of it had been too soon. You didn't start telling people until after the third month…just in case. But the just-in-cases hadn't applied to them. Doctors were notoriously delinquent in adhering to their own advice; caution about first trimester mishaps hadn't even factored into their equations. They'd tried to tell Meredith and Derek immediately; but that, he acknowledged with a frown, had been long overdue. At that point, it had been about sharing _any_ part of his real life with Derek, not just that he was going to be a father.

Yet fate, with dark sense of irony and punishment, had obliterated the carefully constructed strands of mutuality they'd forged. It had been raining that night, too, he mused, the wipers of Lexie's Honda working overtime to keep his vision clear. Then again, it was always raining here.

****

"_Yellow is gender neutral."_

"_I'm not trying to be politically correct; I'm trying to decorate a nursery."_

_She rolled her eyes, tossing a throw pillow in his direction. He deflected it with an elbow, his gaze never leaving the paint samples in his palms. _

"_What about green?" she suggested. "It also goes both ways."_

"_Green is for a boy," he said, frowning at the colors. Then his head jerked up. "Are we having a boy?"_

_She sighed. He'd been on her like white on rice since the first ultrasound. He'd been paged in the waiting room and kissed her regretfully before leaving. "For the millionth time: I don't know."_

"_You'd tell me if you did?"_

"_I'd have the doctor call you before he breathed a word to me."_

_Satisfied, Mark turned back to the samples. He held the pink one closer and then the blue one. "What do you think it is?" he asked for the umpteenth time that week._

"_It could be a girl…" she said._

"_Yeah?" He smiled, one corner of his mouth curling upward._

"_Or a boy," she finished. His smile vanished._

"_Very funny," he said, chucking the pillow back at her. _

_With one hand, she tucked it under her shirt, smoothing the fabric over the new bump. Then she pressed her palms against her fake belly. He watched with obvious interest, the squares forgotten in his hands. "I'm going to get fat," she said._

"_Not fat," he corrected. "Pregnant."_

"_You should wear one of those sympathy bellies."_

_He snorted. "Yeah, right."_

_Feigning offense, she pulled a face. "Jerk." Smiling, she leaned into him, grazing her nose against the hollow concavity of his cheek. "Besides, you're already kind of getting a gut."_

_His eyes widened. "Am not."_

"_Are too. Don't worry, I don't mind." She gave the skin of his taut abdomen a playful pinch. "It's more to love," she said, the words dripping with condescension. _

_He scowled at her, brushing her wandering hand away. "Don't do that. Don't take it out on me. I can't help the fact that you're getting fat."_

_She sat back, pulling the throw pillow out from underneath her shirt. "I thought you said I was pregnant."_

"_That was when you were being nice. Now, you're just fat."_

_She launched herself at him, knocking the tiles out of his hands and slapping his upper arms. He laughed and caught her easily, stilling the attack with his own hands. By the end of the battle, they were horizontal on the couch, their limbs entangled as they kissed. _

"_You know what I like about you?" Lexie asked, their heads close._

"_Everything?" he guessed._

_She nudged him with her knee. "You make me laugh."_

_He kissed her. "Laughing is good."_

"_Laughing is very good." She moved over him, bracing herself on the cushion beneath them. Arms circling her waist, Mark helped her balance. The dark curtain of her hair fell over his face and he lifted it behind her shoulder._

_Once their tops were flung over the coffee table, they set to work on each other's jeans, shimmying within the limited confines of the couch. They laughed soundlessly, kissing all the while, the distraction hindering their efficiency. When she had finally freed her legs, he sat up in one fluid motion, taking her with him. _

_Sitting and facing each other, her body a head taller than him, he moved against her and she sighed her contentment. He drew in her exhale before leaning in to kiss the column of her throat. Giving him access, she let her head fall back, the ends of her hair tickling his hands. The tip of his tongue met the dip at the base of her neck and her fingers dug into his shoulders. _

"_I love you," she chanted softly, half the words a thready breath he felt rather than heard. "I love, love, love you." Long after she couldn't say them any longer, the words echoed in the room, reverberating in his ears. Transforming into some unheard song, they were a rhythm by which to move, rising with the rounded vowel and falling with the consonant that was softened by the act the very word induced. _

_When they slept that night, her cheek was against his chest, her breathing steadying and adjusting to mirror his. Before he slept, he rubbed his chin against the top of her head. _

"_Green's good," he yawned, the word drowsy. _

"_Mark," she called out a minute later. He sat up with a start, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness of the bedroom. The alarm clock read 3:58 in angry red font. They'd been sleeping for five hours. Or he had. _

_The sheets next to him were vacant, releasing the vestiges of her body heat with each passing moment._

"_Lexie?" he said, his voice thick with sleep. _

_She appeared the in the doorway of the adjoining bathroom, the light behind her throwing her body into shadow. When he blinked again, he could make out her wan face and the sweat beading across her upper lip and forehead._

_When she told him she was bleeding, he was wide awake. As if she knew something he didn't, she was sobbing by the time he got her in the car. Insensitive as it was, he wanted to tell her to stop, that it wasn't right to mourn something they hadn't lost. Not yet. Not for sure. _

"_Make a left."_

_He frowned, "The hospital—" he started._

"_Not Seattle Grace," she said._

_Trying to look at the road and not at the damage that was visible on her nightclothes, he asked, "What?"_

"_Not Seattle Grace. Take me to Mercy West."_

_He thought about protesting. She'd been adamant about receiving all her prenatal care at Mercy West; since Meredith and Derek still didn't know, neither did anyone else. The most effective way to keep it that way was steering clear of the SGH gossip mill. _

_None of that mattered right now. But then he looked over at her. Sweat matted her hair and her lips were pale. And then he thought about the doctors and nurses she saw everyday examining that which was most private to both of them. _

_He turned a sharp left._

_****_

_Before six that morning, it was done. The very clinical and polite professionals of Mercy West had cleaned up the chaos nature had created. They'd also very happily reported they saw no reason why it wouldn't be possible for them to try again in the future. Successfully this time, was the unspoken addendum. _

_She was staring out at the first rays of the new day when he entered her room. "I don't want to be here anymore," she said quietly, without turning her head. _

_Unable to disagree, he took her home, where she didn't sleep or eat or talk for the entire day. After bringing her yet another bowl of soup that would go untouched, he sat next to her in bed, his palm lifting to stroke back her unwashed hair. _

_Her eyes closed when he touched her and, for some reason, that made him grateful. Maybe because such a reaction meant she was at least here, feeling things like his touch. _

"_I'm fine," she said then, her voice clear despite the long hours of disuse. She turned to him. "It's fine."_

_He nodded his agreement because there was nothing he could say. His life, up to this moment, had left him curiously ill-equipped to deal with such a situation. But Lexie was different. Lexie knew, with an unwavering belief that came from a lifetime of being loved by the people who counted, that she'd land on her feet. Some may have called that naïve, blind, unrealistic. He called it strength and envied it. _

_The next morning, she was gone. Despite what she'd said the night before, panic flooded his entire system as he created a laundry list of the things to which grief-stricken patients sometimes resorted. _

_But she wasn't sitting anywhere with carved wrists or a loaded gun. She was at the hospital, her face bright and alert. He found her speed-walking across the well-lit bridge, Sadie and Steven flanking her sides. _

"_Lexie," he said as the three of them passed him. Sadie looked at him and for a brief moment, he wondered if Lexie had confided in her. He almost preferred it; not talking at all was far worse than simply not talking to him. _

_Steve didn't even spare him a look; his small eyes were focused on the goal ahead. In fact, that just summed about everyone's reaction when word about him and Lexie as a couple had gotten out a couple months back. Meredith and Derek weren't as adept at hoarding secrets as him and Lexie._

"_Hi," she called back over her shoulder, a smile pinned to her face. "Gotta run." By the time the three residents finished the bridge, they were sprinting._

_It was Callie who told him about the contest and the damn sparkle pager. _

"_Lexie." Sometime later, he found her standing outside, the wind working against her as she tried to tie a yellow gown around her. Helping her with the strings, he stood behind her. "We need to talk."_

_She craned her head toward the bay, her gloved hands huddled for warmth. "Can't. There's a trauma coming in." She smiled up at him and he just stared. "I'm hoping for a medical mystery." She crossed her fingers. "Eighty points for a medical mystery."_

_He sighed. There was only one language she understood at this point. "I have a cranium that needs suturing. Complex suturing. We could talk aft—"_

_She shook her head, the faint sounds of sirens reaching their ears. "A point a suture. Not worth it."_

"_Lexie," he said, frustration causing his voice to rise. This wasn't natural, not for anyone and definitely not for Lexie. "Lexie!" _

_She looked up, her eyes widening. "Don't even think about it!" she shouted. _

_His brow furrowed. "What—"_

_Then he realized she wasn't speaking to him, but to the two invading residents barreling toward them. "You can't hide cases," Ryan said, unfolding a yellow gown._

"_I didn't hide anything," Lexie scoffed. _

_By the time the ambulance pulled up to the bay, they were screaming over the gurney. Mark backed away from the carnage, shaking his head though no one was looking._

_****_

_Bailey and Yang were holed up in a room tallying points, so Mark knew two weeks had passed. He passed the interns crowded near the conference room without bothering to talk to Lexie. He'd stopped trying nine days ago, just like he'd stopped buying dinner for two and waiting up. _

_He was getting ready to go home and spend the night with the third book he'd finished that week when Bailey and Yang finally finished their version of Election Day. Zipping up his jacket, he slowed down, curiosity getting the best of him. _

_He watched Meredith stand next to Yang while Bailey cleared her throat. _

"_Grey," she said and everyone turned to Meredith, their faces blank. Irritated, Bailey repeated, her small chin jerking forward. "Grey!"_

_Lexie's eyes rounded, the rope of her ponytail bounced as she jumped, and her arms flew up in victory. "I won!" Steve looked at her warily, stepping away. He remembered from Izzie Stevens' intern game that Lexie was a violent winner. "I won!"_

_There wasn't much ceremony to the way Meredith gave her sister the red and white pager, but that didn't dampen the victory. He guessed the ongoing cold war with her sister was the last thing on Lexie's mind right now. "I won," she repeated, snatching the pager and clutching it to her chest. "I'm the best," she said to no one in particular. _

_Meredith's brow furrowed in something that could have been mistaken for concern if Mark hadn't know better. "I—" Here Lexie began struggling for air, her words shaky as she looked around. "I—I'm the best." Tears welled up in her eyes as she continued her stuttering mantra. "I w—won, I won, I—I won." _

_Then there was no room for interpretation, she was all out bawling. Meredith's eyes found his through the rest of the doctors as if to grant him permission. But he was already pushing his way through the throng of alarmed people. When he stopped to stand in front of Lexie, her face was streaked and her hiccupping sobs made her words blend together in a disjointed cry that wasn't decipherable._

"_IwonIwon," she told him as he nodded, lifting her off her feet and away from the crowd. _

"_You won," he said quietly into her ear. _

_**AN: Please review!**_


	18. Chapter 17: Impasse

_**AN: Wow. I am so sorry it's been so long. Life got in the way. But I'm back and here with every intention of finishing this story! So hopefully you all remember where we left off with these two. =) Enjoy and let me know what you think.**_

_**Also, thanks to you guys who wrote me during my unwitting hiatus. The fact that you guys care and like this story enough to wonder about it means the world to me! **_

_**Standard disclaimers apply and, despite due diligence, the inevitable mistakes are my fault.**_

Remembrance

Chapter Seventeen: Impasse

She woke alone, in a bed she'd grown accustomed to sharing. Turning onto her side, she first saw the nightstand she'd yanked open the day before. Unable to stomach the sight of it, she rolled onto her back, flinging an arm over her eyes. Persistent sunlight filtered through the delicate skin of her eyelids and she knew hiding was more than futile, it was cowardly.

So she lifted her arm off her face and let it fall above her head, resting on the pillow beneath her. Every damn thing in the bedroom triggered a memory.

The bathroom door where Mark had decided a no towel policy was a brilliant idea.

_Effective immediately_, he'd said, yanking the terrycloth from her form. Skin damp and hair soaked, she had yelped her surprise. Even as she'd tried to scamper back into the bathroom to get another one, he'd caught her wrists with a laugh and a kiss.

Their twin dressers, where she'd been trying to pick out a top the night he'd once again tried to discuss her father. They'd been running late to meet Callie and Arizona for drinks.

"_I don't see why we couldn't just meet for dinner," he grumbled behind her, rolling the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. _

"_Because," she explained patiently, zipping up her jeans, "they want time alone."_

"_But Joe's? Why is it always Joe's?" Mark sighed. "I swear, we're all turning into a bunch of alcoholics." _

_Her arm froze as it reached up to dislodge a sweater from its hanger. He was behind her in an instant, his body heat emanating onto her bareback. "That was a stupid thing to say," he said quietly, his palms rubbing circles over the skin near her bra straps in mute apology. _

"_Don't be silly," she brushed off his words and his touch by reaching up to yank down the sweater. "It's fine."_

"_Lexie…"_

"_Mark, you made a joke. I can't get all sensitive every time someone makes a joke." She pulled the sweater over her head roughly, raising her hair into fuzzy disarray over her face. _

_He stared at her for a long moment before sighing and using both of his large hands to smooth her hair down. _

"_Thank you," she said thickly and he nodded. Then she turned to their full-length mirror and wrinkled her nose. "I hate this sweater." Crossing her arms she pulled if off in one fluid motion._

_He sighed and looked down at his watch. "When we're late, I'm blaming you."_

Staring at the ceiling didn't help either. Because she'd been staring at its tiles the day after she won the sparkle pager and an unlimited supply of awesome surgeries she could care less about.

_Mark had taken her home the night before; he'd let her cry and squeeze her pillow to her body so tightly it was still a wrung-out, battered mass of cotton. Exhausted, she'd slept. But she still hadn't spoken; it worried him, she could tell, even from the distanced fog she'd recently inhabited. But there was little she could do about it; she just had nothing to share. _

_When hushed voices from the living room filtered through the comforter cocoon, they seemed so far away and irrelevant that Lexie had no trouble turning a deaf ear. When Mark pushed open the bedroom door and called out her name, she neither answered nor rolled over. _

"_Someone's here to see you, Lexie," he said, before leaving. _

_The mattress sank and Lexie knew her visitor was sitting next to her. Opening her eyes, she gave the intruder a sideways look. _

"_Hey," Meredith said, her voice cautious as it took in her Lexie's haggard appearance. _

_Lexie didn't answer, letting her eyes roll to the ceiling. _

_It was the height of discouragement, but Meredith persisted. "I'm sorry, Lexie."_

_Susan Grey had raised her properly. She didn't put elbows on the table while eating and she didn't come to people's homes without bringing a gift. So Lexie said, "Thank you."_

_Apparently the words discounted the earlier coldness because Meredith sat against the headboards, signaling her stay wouldn't be a short one. "This must be awful—"_

_Lexie shut her eyes, wishing she could shut her ears as well. This could go on for a while. Their relationship was too obligatory to be friendly, too awkward to be familial. Coming to a decision, she opened her eyes and interrupted. "Have you ever lost a baby?"_

_Meredith was quiet. "No."_

_Lexie nodded. "Right."_

_Meredith toyed with a loose thread on the comforter. She opened her mouth as if to say something and then shut it. Twirling the string around her finger rapidly, her mind seemed to be working even faster. She must have made a decision, because she started again. "But Cristina did."_

_Lexie turned to look at her half-sister. "When?"_

"_Our first year." She cleared her throat. "It was Burke's."_

_Lexie kept staring. "Was she planning on keeping it?"_

_Meredith looked away. "Right," Lexie said, to no one in particular. "Right."_

_Meredith sighed. "Lexie—"_

_Lexie shook her head. "Neither of us wants you here, Meredith," she interrupted once again. "So why don't you just go?" The words were hollow, not unkind, and tired. It was impossible to take offense. _

_Meredith swallowed. "I'm sorry," she said again, before leaving. _

_The front door closed with a dull thud a few minutes later and she knew they were alone in the apartment once more; two would-be parents with a useless nursery and car-seat she never wanted to lay eyes on again. _

******

Lexie blinked the tiles back into focus. They had shifted into a hazy sea of cream. Pushing the covers off, she went to the bathroom.

Mark saw her twenty minutes later when she entered the living room, her hands shoved into the back pockets of her jeans. He put the newspaper he had been reading down, the black and gray print occupied the cushion next to him on the couch.

They were silent as she sat on a dining room chair. Both he and the sofa were in clear view and she cleared her throat.

"I need to apologize," she said.

He gave her a curt nod that told her to continue.

"I—I was selfish." She licked her dry lips before trying again, "I was selfish in my grief." Hands open in a gesture of helplessness, she said, "I'm sorry."

His eyes softened. "Thank you," he said, the words a low rumble.

She nodded, wiping her palms on the thighs of her jeans. Sighing, her shoulders lifted and then fell. "I should get going."

He frowned, standing. "Where?"

She shrugged, the gesture implying no place in particular. "Meredith's," she finally said. "I can get my stuff later."

"Lexie, we still need to talk."

After a sad laugh, she said, "No, no, we don't. We shouldn't. I don't want to fight with you anymore."

His brow furrowed. "I don't either."

"But that's all we do and I'm tired."

"So you're just cutting your losses then?" His voice was biting and caused her to straighten.

"No," she snapped back, "I'm trying to do the right thing before we say things we'll regret." After pausing for effect, she added, "Again."

He gave her his back and that should have been that. But instead of turning toward the front door, she walked closer to him, egged on by an ineffable desire to make him understand.

"We're no good together," she said softly, her palm pressing against his rigid back. "You see that, don't you?"

"That's not true." His voice was tight.

"Oh, Mark." With a slight press of her hand, she silently urged him to turn. When he didn't oblige, she went around him to look up into his face. "Do you know how bad things had to be if you felt you had to lie to get any semblance of happiness back?"

He remained quiet, staring at some distance point above her head. His jaw clenched, carving out the hollows of his cheekbones. His normally warm skin was pale and the black of his shirt created a stark contrast.

"I resented you," Lexie said, focusing on the third button of his shirt. She felt his eyes shift to her face. "I was unhappy about certain things and expected them to change. But how could I when I never told you?" She laughed and shook her head, her hair spilling over her shoulder. "I was so unfair." Regret lined her voice. "I'm sorry for that, too."

"I resented you," he said after a long moment. "And I never told you either."

Lexie nodded, her eyes lifting to meet his. "Well, there you go," she said, blowing out her breath. Giving him a half smile, she raised herself on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Goodbye, Mark." He smelled of lemon and soap.

"We—" His voice stopped her in the middle of the living room. "We were happy though. Sometimes." There was a lilt in his voice, as if unsure if she remembered despite all that had happened.

"Yes," she said, turning to look at him. Her eyes were now bright with emotion. She smiled over her shoulder. "Very." Then, her face somber, she walked back to him. "For whatever it's worth," she started, her hand reaching for his, "I think you would have made a terrific father."

His lips twisted. " I doubt it," he muttered.

His words caused her to squint up at him. "What was that?"

"Forget it." His hand fluttered in a dismissive wave and he moved past her to sit at the dining table with his paper.

Instead of leaving, she stayed in the middle of the living room. When she slowly turned, he was poring over the Sports section with an intent that was too casual to be genuine. He looked up. "You were on your way out," he said helpfully before turning back to the paper.

Resting her bag on the coffee table, she walked to stand next to him. His silver head was bent and he clearly had no intention of acknowledging her, but still she waited.

"Mark," she said. When there was no reply, she slid the newspaper away from him.

He blew out his breath in a gesture of supreme impatience. "Yes?"

She ignored the tone. "Tell me you know it wasn't your fault."

"I know it wasn't my fault." He recited the words with an obedience that was maddening.

"Good. Now try it like you mean it." She touched his shoulder, imploring him to look up at her. "It was an accident," she said softly. "We made a lot of mistakes, but none with our baby."

Slapping a hand on the wooden dining table, he looked up at her. "Thank you," he said, his voice dripping sarcasm. "Just…thank you. I think the signs are pretty damn clear I shouldn't _ever_ be a father, but thank you. _Thank you,_ Lexie, because you telling me I'd be a good one? Well, that just makes it all better." He reached over to grab the paper back and snapped its pages with a violence that made her flinch.

She let him have the pretence of reading for a moment. Meanwhile, she marveled at her ignorance. Her first shot at motherhood had been cruelly dismantled. But by nature or by design, Mark had been robbed twice.

And she hadn't even bothered to piece it together. Closing her eyes, she mentally flogged herself. When she opened them again, he reading the same column.

"Mark," she croaked. Swallowing, she tried again. "Mark." She ran a hand through his short hair, his head lifting with the motion. When she held his eyes, antagonistic and blue, she pressed her palm against his cheek.

She shook her head. "I know I can't make it better. But you're going to be a father someday, Mark." She gave him a watery smile. "You _deserve_ to be a father."

He cleared his throat, dismissing her words as he looked past her. "You should prob—"

She pushed forward. "You deserve to be a father, Mark. You deserve it." Her voice cracked and she stopped long enough to collect herself. She stepped closer, her hand sliding down his cheek to press against his chest. "This heart was meant to love children." Her fingers trailed down his shoulder. "These arms were meant to carry them." She exhaled. "And I couldn't have picked a better father for my child."

With a small inclination of his head, his cheek pressed against her abdomen, the heat of his breath reaching her skin through her shirt. Her arms lifted to cradle his head, light glinting through the silver threads of his hair.

She cried then, but not for herself. Not even for their baby. She cried for him, for what had been denied, not once, but twice. And as she held his body against her own, she knew she had to leave. Right away. Because she could have easily reconciled to spend her life there, consoling him, and in another two minutes, she would.

So she pulled back, his palms framing his face. She bent over him, her dark hair spilling on his shoulder. She kissed him then, her lips pressing against his in a gesture that gave and sought comfort in equal parts. When she pulled back, the pad of her thumb brushed the corner of his mouth and she saw that her tears had rubbed onto his cheeks.

When she closed the front door behind her, she was careful not to look back.

_**AN: Please review!**_


	19. Chapter 18: Emotional Lexiecon

_**Standard disclaimers apply and, despite due diligence, the inevitable mistakes are my fault.**_

Chapter Eighteen: Emotional Lexie-con

She trudged up the steps, her bag in hand. By the time she rang the doorbell, she was already regretting her decision. Options, however, weren't exactly running aplenty, she acknowledged grimly, her finger hovering over the button as she debated whether to ring it again.

The door swung open and her sister stared back at her, the corners of her mouth puckered in what Lexie could only assume was sympathy.

"Your room's all made up," she said, gesturing her inside.

That was surprising. "The attic?" she asked, craning her neck around so she'd see Derek before he saw her. Preparation never hurt anyone.

"No, a real room." They locked eyes. "Alex's old one."

Lexie managed a small smile. "Upgrade."

"Yeah, Derek even put on the guest linen. It's classy."

They smiled for as long as they could fake it. Meredith was the first to break. "Are you okay?" she sighed.

Lexie nodded. "Yeah, yeah." She kept nodding. "Yes. I think so." Meredith kept staring. "Probably not." Lexie shook her head, looking at her shoes. "No."

They walked up the stairs together. "Are you sure about this?"

There was no point in asking about what. Lexie wasn't dumb and she was in no mood to play it. "I can't stay there."

Meredith still looked doubtful. "He loves you," she said.

"And I love him."

When her sister stared at her as if she were challenged, Lexie shrugged. "It'll pass."

Meredith nodded slowly. "Right."

Lexie wanted to scream. Wasn't it enough that she breathed fear every moment, terrified that Mark had ruined her for any man, any love, any chance at happiness without him? Did everyone else have to belief she was making a huge mistake as well?

Instead she exhaled. "Thank you for letting me stay here," she said, standing near the bed of Alex's old room. She remembered the first she'd seen it, drunk with the intoxication of beer and being wanted. It was laughable now, that excursion with Alex. A detour. A pebble. For both of them. Mark had been a boulder.

"Anytime," Meredith said from the doorway.

"Is—is Derek okay?"

"With you staying here?" Lexie nodded and Meredith waved a dismissive hand. "Of course. He generally takes your side. Against Mark." Meredith gave her a half-smile. "Against me."

Lexie returned the gesture, but there was one more thing she had to say. "Thank you."

"You already said that."

Lexie shook her dark head. "Not for this, but for being there back then." She waited a beat before clarifying. "When we lost the baby."

Meredith nodded, the movement awkward and hurried. Lexie realized she'd probably made the other woman uncomfortable. Giving her a small smile, she remained quiet, granting Meredith a cued exit.

Like clockwork, Meredith turned to leave. She paused in the doorway, however, and said, "I'm glad you know you can come here." She shifted for a moment, shaking the fringe out of her eyes. "After you told us—about you and Mark—it got…it got messy."

Lexie's eyes crinkled in a genuine smile. "Water. Bridge. All that," she quoted.

Meredith grinned. "Dinner in a hour." Giving the panel a pat with her palm, she moved into the hallway.

Lexie called after her, "No eggs," at the exact moment Meredith popped her head back to reassure her: "No eggs."

Their laugher echoed in the house.

*******

Lexie set the table while Derek paid careful attention to the chicken. Meredith was on the phone, pacing in the living room. Snippets of her conversation wafted into the kitchen and none of it sounded good.

"…believe this happened again," she said as she walked by the doorway. "…..Seriously?.....asking for trouble…."

Lexie and Derek exchanged a look over the kitchen counter before turning back to their respective jobs.

When Meredith ran into the kitchen a minute later, she was already pulling on her jacket.

Derek set the chicken on the table and took in her purse and shoes. "Everything all right?"

Meredith waved a hand in the air. " Cristina. Hunt. Drama."

Derek nodded once, his gaze flickering down to the steaming meat and vegetables. Lexie knew his pain and felt distinctly out of place. She sat down, hands in her lap, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.

"We were supposed to go over house plans after dinner," he said, his voice not unkind.

"I know," Meredith sighed, flipping her hair out of her collar. "But Cristina—"

"Needs you," Derek supplied.

Meredith leaned over to kiss him quickly. "Yes."

"Go, go," Derek said, taking his seat.

Meredith hesitated for a moment, her cell phone clasped in her palm. "You sure?"

Derek looked at her, the grooves around the corner of his mouth deepening as he looked at her anxious face. Two years ago she wouldn't have asked. "Always." She smiled back at him. "We have tomorrow."

Lexie watched her sister's back as she strode out of the kitchen. The front door closed a moment later. She turned back to Derek, who was busy cutting the chicken into sections with the precision of a surgeon.

Despite tact warning her it could be a sore spot, curiosity got the better of her and she asked, "How long have you been working on that house?"

He shrugged distractedly. "In my head? Forever. With Meredith? About two years."

Lexie gaped at him. Then, realizing she was being rude and about ten kinds of judgmental, she schooled her expression into one of unbiased observance. "Oh. I see."

She didn't fool him. Derek smiled patiently, his voice tolerant. "You think I'm crazy."

"No."

"Yes, you do. That's all right, I thought I was for a long time, too."

She moved her chicken around with her fork. "But not anymore?"

He looked at the door Meredith had vacated minutes before as if her presence still lingered. "No, not anymore."

"What changed?"

He shrugged. "Because I can't hold Meredith to the same timetable as others. She's different and it's unfair of me to love her for being different and then condemn her for not being like other women." He took a bite of chicken and swallowed. "She's made huge steps to change herself for me, for us. And I celebrate those instead of looking at what we don't have yet."

Lexie met his gaze for a while before looking down at her plate. She cleared her throat. "I think that says a lot about you."

"What do you mean?" He took a sip of his wine.

She shook her head. "I don't think a lot of people would be willing to stick it out."

He looked amused. Leaning back in his chair, he peered at her and she had a prickling feeling she was being studied. "I think it's selfish of me."

"Selfish?"

"I could make it easier for both of us. I could go find someone without commitment issues; I could do the picket fence and 2.4 kids thing. I could let Meredith do her surgery and bed-hopping thing—no pressure, no future."

Lexie frowned. "But…" she prompted.

Derek smiled. "But that picket fence and 2.4 kids thing wouldn't compare to the feeling I get just talking to Meredith about how much she hates picket fences."

Lexie gave up the pretense of eating. She set her fork down and reached for the wine. "Because she's it for you."

Derek helped himself to more chicken. "Because she's it for me."

********

Over the next two days, Lexie went after Mark like a bounty hunter. She left messages, she checked the board for his surgeries, she went to his apartment. But the messages went unheard, he managed to avoid her around the OR and he was never home.

When she finally laid eyes on him, ironically enough, it was by accident. She had just finished a conversation with two of his scrub nurses. Though she'd stressed it wasn't possible for him to have already left when his surgery wasn't scheduled to be completed for another two hours, the nurses had been adamant that he'd left already. Resigning herself to leaving another fruitless message, she'd then jogged down the stairs and promptly seen him exiting the elevator.

When her feet hit the landing, she halted to a jerking stop. His shoulders were bunched under his jacket and his hands were shoved into his jeans. She simply stared for a long moment, her eyes taking in as much of him as possible.

"Mark!" she finally called, her strides eating up the distance between them.

He turned on instinct rather than by the sound of her voice. That much was evident by the look on his face when he saw her. His brows rose and then fell again, his eyes clouding over. Boredom crossed his features and he looked over her head in a gesture so dismissive, it would have hurt her feelings if it hadn't been so infuriating.

"Where the hell have you been?" she demanded. "I've been going crazy trying to reach you."

"Yeah," he said, rocking back on his heels. "Right. So I can have your stuff sent to you."

She gaped at him. "What?"

He frowned. "Your clothes, books. Your stuff."

Thrown, she just stared. Unfortunately, that gave him time to escape. He turned and left her in the lobby staring at the gleam of his retreating back.

The next day she cornered him the stairwell. She'd given up leaving messages or calling. They only left a trail. And information like that, she'd learned during her limited time as a stalker, only gave targets avenues to avoid you. The better way was to let information come to you and use it to your advantage. Rather than looking at the board, she heard the nurses talking and knew when Dr. Sloan's cleft palate was done for the day.

From there, it was easy to remain hidden while he scrubbed out and headed for the staircases rather than the elevator. She had been ready to hijack him in either.

Running past him down the stairs, she stopped on the step right below him and turned, her arm on the railing. His body instinctively stopped to prevent mowing down the blur in front of him.

"You have to listen to me," she said, the sentence coming out in a rushed string of words.

"I have a meeting," he said, moving to the side.

She anticipated the move and blocked him. "We have to talk."

Mark moved the right once more. So did she. "I don't think we do."

"Yes, yes, we do. About us."

Mark glared at her. "I think you made it pretty clear there is no us."

She sighed. "Would you hear me out? Please?"

He faked left and she fell for it. He slid past her body on the right and left the stairwell. Groaning her frustration, she leaned against the railing before sliding down to sit on the stairs. With her forehead pressed against her knees, she tried not to think of the possibility that her recently returned memories of Mark Sloan could be all that she had left of him.

_**AN: Please review!**_


	20. Chapter 19: Sound and Fury

_**AN: Whew, so here it is: the final chapter of Remembrance. This story has been such a blast to write, even during the most painful Slexie moments. =) Thank you to everyone who has read it, loved it, hated it, reviewed it. You guys are the reason I write this couple, not Rhimes and not even the actors who portray this lovely couple. =)**_

_**And double thanks those who have already jumped into my next story: If I Should Fall Behind. It's a snarky, dry tale thus far and it's premise has done wonders for my desire to write. **_

_**Standard disclaimers apply and, despite due diligence, the inevitable mistakes are my fault.**_

Chapter Nineteen: Sound and Fury

The third time, she swallowed her pride and upgraded her sleuth skills, shadowing him beyond the hospital to the convenience store near his apartment. The last time she'd been there it had been one in the morning and she'd been carrying ice cream that had gone uneaten.

She pulled up next to his car and, just as he opened his door, she bounded out and around her car to face him. Experience told her she didn't have much time, that he'd evade her in five sentences or less. Cut to the chase, she decided, sucking in a deep breath as he saw who was next to him. Shock flitted across his face first, followed by impatience .

"You're it for me," she practically shouted at him. "For better or for worse. You're it for me."

"What are you doing here, Lexie?" he asked wearily, locking his car with a resonating beep before walking away. It must have been a rhetorical question, considering the way he gave her his back without a care as to her answer.

"You're seriously walking away?" she called after him. "After everything we've been through?"

He stopped and turned, his eyes spitting fury at her. She actually took a step back when she registered the fury on his face. "_I'm_ walking away?" he jeered at her, jabbing his chest with his index finger. "Unbelievable." He shook his head. "You've got a lot of nerve, Grey," he muttered before turning away once more.

"I know I was wrong, okay?" She bit her lip. He was getting further away each second and not just across the parking lot. "I—I haven't had much experience at this sort of thing, but I'm here now and—and I'm sorry.

"But it can't all be for nothing. I know it can't. Everything that happened and everything we've shared—it has to signify _something_." She waited a moment. This was it, this was when her words finally penetrated his thick skull and he walked back to her. Only nothing happened. "Mark?" she called. "Mark!" No answer.

At her wit's end, she reached into her bag and grabbed the socks she always kept inside. Her mother had habitually said clean socks were an underappreciated asset, but until Lexie's intern year, she hadn't understood. Though, even working thirty-six hour shifts, the socks hadn't ever been as useful as they were at this moment. After lobbing them at him, she watched as the bundled pair bounced off the back of his head and fell to the gravel.

He stopped for a moment in sheer surprise before resuming his walk, not bothering to look back at her.

"Hey, Sloan," she called, her voice taunting. "Yeah, you," she clarified when people began to look in her direction. She made her next words very clear, weight given to each word. "Yankees suck."

He turned around then, pivoting on his heels in a slow, deliberate arc. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," she said, belligerence keeping her warm as his expression grew cold.

He shook his head as if to clear it. "You have no idea what you're talking about," he said.

"I'm talking about the Yankees losing 10-3 in October 2004 because the Sox made them their bitches."

Mark's chin jerked up as if she'd hit him. His mouth moved as if to say something. After two false starts, he pressed his lips together and remained quiet.

Lexie pretended to think. "And then again in 2005. 8-1, I believe." She clicked her tongue. "Pity."

He glared. "At least we didn't sell Babe Ruth for a failed play. And your stadium is lousy."

Lexie's smile fell. "George Steinbrenner is the devil."

He took a step closer to her, his posture menacing. "Take that back," he gritted out. "

Her smirk was smug. "No," she said. Then, for emphasis, she repeated slowly, "Yankees suck."

He scowled, his blue eyes narrowing into pinpoints of bright light. "Sox swallow."

Her face grew indignant. When she remained silent, he took that as a victory. Giving her his back once again, he retraced his steps back to the store, moving away from her.

"I love you," she called out. "Crappy taste and all, I love you."

He froze again and she saw his back stiffen. For a terrible moment she thought he was going to keep walking. Then he turned to look at her with an expression of wary caution. He didn't believe her, or if he did, he assumed some contingencies, she realized. For that, she had no one to blame but herself. A fist closed around her insides and she tried to breathe through it while schooling her face into one of calm; at least one of them had to believe they'd make it.

Desperate to say words, magic words, that would convince him, she added, "And I don't want picket fences if you hate them."

Then he just looked confused. "Lexie," he asked, "What are you doing?"

"I love you," she repeated, taking a tentative step forward. "And I know you love me."

His brow arched. "I didn't exactly make a secret of it," he said bitterly.

A sigh left her. "I know." Then: "I'm sorry it took me so long to get here. To realize." Her hands opened palms out, the gesture beseeching. "I was hurt and upset and I thought I knew what was best." She shook her head and her loose hair fell around her shoulders. "I was stupid and…and I'm sorry.

"But here's the thing." She took another step closer to him. "You're smarter than me. So I know you won't let my stupidity get in the way of something that was meant to be really, really great."

His chin tilted up as he surveyed her. "Are you trying to flatter me?"

She smiled. "Is it working?"

"Jury's still out."

"Would it help if I told you I'd been miserable since the moment I left your apartment?"

"Our apartment," he corrected automatically. "And yes."

Her face twisted into one of distaste. "Mean."

He sighed heavily. "Lexie," he began, pulling a hand down his face. His features were temporarily distorted while he got his thoughts together. Finally, he said, "You exhaust me."

She couldn't help but give him a small smile. "I know. I'm sorry."

"I can't live my life wondering if you're going to change your mind again." He shook his head. "I'm thirty-seven years old. Enough is enough."

Directly in front of him now, she lifted a hand to press against his cheek. "Poor old man," she teased.

He grimaced and angled his head away from her touch. Her arm dropped to her side.

"What is it you want, Lexie?" he asked, his eyes boring into her. She swallowed hard. "Think long and hard before you answer because I know what I want. And I'm old enough not to settle for anything less."

"I want you," she said without hesitation. "I want you so badly I'm prepared to take any part of you you're willing to give." With her teeth worrying the skin of her lower lip, she stood in his silence, waiting for an answer to determine her future. It would be damned waste if he refused her and denied both of them. But it wouldn't mean she'd stop loving him. It wasn't that simple, she knew that with depressing intuition. She'd be doomed to spend the better part of her twenties comparing her peers to an older man who had everything the boys around her distinctively lacked.

After what felt like an eternity, he peered at her and said, "You're too young to get married."

Her heart mingled with her stomach. "Okay…" she said.

"But I'm too selfish to wait," he warned. "So now would be your chance to run because I'm not letting go. Not again."

She stepped into him, her cheek rubbing against the zipper of his jacket. Though his arms didn't go around her immediately, she was content to wait. "I'm done running."

When she finally felt his arms cross over her back, she exhaled her relief and sent a prayer of gratitude above. She laced her fingers through his. "You're not selfish," she said.

She felt him shift above her. "Yes, I am."

Lexie pulled away enough to look at his tired face. "You were prepared to shoulder a lifetime of grief all by yourself just to protect me." She shook her head. "That's the opposite of selfish." Then she hugged him, her fingers gripping the leather of his jacket. "You're a good man, Mark, I was just too insecure to see it all that time ago."

He frowned, rubbing his cheek against her hair. "Meaning?"

She sighed, part of her had wanted to avoid this, to just jump into new beginnings. And then she truly understood the Mark who must have watched her lying in a hospital bed, and the full onus that had been thrust upon him.

"When you asked me to move in with you, it was because George was moving away. When you asked me to marry you, it was because of the baby." She shrugged. "It was stupid, but I felt it was always convenience pushing us along, not—not…" she trailed off, her hands gesturing to nothing in particular.

"Not the fact that I loved you," he finished.

It sounded awful to hear the words between them. She flushed, but nodded anyway, her eyes lowering to the gravel.

"When you didn't come back right away…that night, the night of…the attack," he started, staring up at the sky. He blew out his breath and finished, "Some part of me thought you'd left."

"Left you?"

He nodded.

She wanted to say she would never, but then she thought about how she'd held him in his apartment three days ago and then walked out. So she kept quiet, her fingers tightening around his to let him know, in some small way, she was still there.

"I'm sorry," she said finally. "I meant what I said: you're it for me."

He looked at her, his eyes clear. "I know the feeling." Wrapping an arm around her neck, he pulled her close and began walking toward the store. "Come on," he said. "We need a few things."

She smiled into his shoulder. "Or we could just find a bed."

He laughed. "Insatiable witch." When she pinched his side, he twisted away from her fingers. "I never realized how much of the shopping you did. We're out of toilet paper, paper towels, soap and detergeant."

"We could get a shower curtain," she suggested as the automated doors made way for them.

His brow furrowed. "Our shower has a door."

She cleared her throat and grabbed a shopping cart. "Yeah, about that," she said. "I hate your apartment."

He took the handle from her and maneuvered it down the first aisle. "You hate it?"

"Hate it," she confirmed. "I hate the furniture, the kitchen, the locks on the doors, the way—"

"All right," he interrupted, holding a hand up. "You hate it, I get it."

She bit her lip. "So we have to move. And decorate it together. And—"

"Okay."

She stopped. "Okay?" she echoed.

He looked up from the selection of liquid hand soap. "Yeah, okay."

She cocked her head to the side and observed him. "Are you going to be this easy about everything?"

He grinned and dropped one of the bottles into the cart before moving down the aisle. "My motto in life is to be easy," he drawled, his brows suggestive.

Behind him, Lexie picked out the soap she knew they both preferred and dropped it in the cart discreetly. She'd hide his selection later and let him think he'd gotten it right from the get-go.

Ten minutes later, they stood in the check-out line, her fingers drumming against the handle bar. Mark's fingers crooked into the front of her jeans and pulled her flush against his stomach. Once his mouth had found hers, he said, "I think it was very sweet of you to do some baseball research."

She smiled against his lips. "The photographic memory comes in handy."

He kissed her again, his tongue sweeping through her mouth quickly. "I'm sure. But if you ever say the Yankees suck again, I'll paddle you."

Before she could come back with the smart aleck response she had prepared, he looked into their cart and asked, "Are we missing something?" Then he snapped his fingers. "Ice cream." He kissed her soundly. "Go get the mint chocolate chip."

She took umbrage, planting her hands on her hips. "And why aren't you going?"

Mark studied her, his blue eyes narrowing. "I'll go if you can tell me the six most common causes of post—"

She rolled her eyes and backed away. "I'm going, I'm going."

He watched her back as she jogged to the frozen section of the store. Part of him missed her already. He had experienced enough of it to recognize that particular emotion. Warmth seeped past the cold misery of the past four days, and he knew there was something different. This brand of missing was the best kind. Because, he smiled, moving them forward in line, he knew she was coming right back.

**Please Review! =)**


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